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ginnsbaker · 3 days ago

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All Of Your Pieces (10 - Welcome Home)

Chapter Summary: “No,” you shake your head firmly. Wanda wouldn't do that to you, wouldn't impose her will on you, let alone on thousands of people. “I'm sorry,” Darcy murmurs, her voice low. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I wish I was lying, but I swear I’m not.”

“Prove it,” you demand, in a last, desperate attempt to cling to the life you've built here with Wanda, to preserve the trust you've placed in the person who means the world to you.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 6.1k+ | Chapter Tags/Warnings: None

A/N: We've reached the end of Part 1! If you've noticed the updated series masterlist, I removed the dates of when the Part 2 chapters will be published. I've decided to take my time as I've started Law school. Rest assured this series will be completed, as I have a feeling this will be my last for this pairing/fandom // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It's getting late. Families are beginning to pack up, hauling sugar-fueled, weary kids back home, as the Halloween crowd dwindles to a few costumed stragglers. One by one, the booths start shutting down, their owners announcing fifty percent off final sales in a last-ditch effort to clear their stocks. You haven't returned from your patrol, and Billy and Tommy are nowhere to be seen.

You should've been back by now. The boys, too.

Wanda’s anxiety is creeping up again. She scans the square, searching faces, but none of them are yours. None of them are Billy or Tommy's.

“Have you seen my kids, Billy and Tommy?” she asks a passing neighbor.

“Can't say I have,” he shrugs, moving along.

An uneasy feeling crawls up Wanda's spine. Where’s her family?

Then she spots Agnes, effortlessly holding court with a group of volunteers by the cotton candy stand. She hesitates, knowing full well that getting Agnes' attention usually means signing up for more than she bargained for. But if anyone has a handle on everything happening tonight, it’s her snooping, ever-present neighbor.

“Agnes!” Wanda calls out, weaving through the remnants of the crowd.

Agnes turns, eyes gleaming, her mouth already stretched wide into a blinding smile. “Wanda! What can I do for you?”

“Have you seen the boys? Or Y/N?” Wanda tries to keep the edge out of her voice.

“Oh, the boys are at my place! They heard I got a new gaming console for Ralph and just couldn't resist. Begged me to let them try it out.”

Nothing about what Agnes said makes sense. “They went to your house? Without asking me?”

“Oh, you know how boys are with their toys,” Agnes rolls her eyes. “They were so excited, I didn't have the heart to say no.”

Wanda frowns. She knows her children well—they're adventurous but always inform her or you before taking off. “They should've asked for my permission,” Wanda says.

Agnes waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud. They're safe and sound, having the time of their lives.”

“That's not the point,” Wanda snaps.

Agnes laughs, head thrown back, and it makes Wanda's skin prickle. “Come on, dear. It's Halloween. Let them have a little fun.”

Wanda takes a deep breath. “It's getting late. I'd like to bring them home now.”

“Of course, of course,” Agnes says softly, her hand resting briefly on Wanda's arm. “I’ll drive you over.”

Wanda climbs into Agatha’s car, her eyes still darting around, the unease in her chest growing tighter despite having an answer about where her kids are.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” Wanda can’t help but ask again, as if hoping for a different answer this time.

Agnes glances at her sideways. “Probably still on patrol. Dedicated, that one.”

Wanda nods, but it doesn’t ease the tightness in her chest. The streets feel longer than usual, stretching out like a labyrinth. Wherever you are, she hopes you’re doing okay, and that you’re nowhere near the boundary.

They arrive at Agnes' house shortly after. Wanda’s expecting the noise of video games coming from the living room, but the house is quiet and poorly-lit.

“After you,” Agnes says, opening the door.

Wanda steps inside, a cold breeze hitting her on the face almost immediately.

“Boys? Billy? Tommy?”

But there’s not a sign of them. In fact, there’s no sign of anyone in the house. The gaming console sits untouched near the television, controllers neatly arranged. The silence is too loud.

Wanda spins around to face her. “Where are they?”

Agnes closes the door behind them. “Oh, they might've wandered downstairs.”

“Which way?”

“Just through the kitchen and down the stairs,” Agnes points.

Wanda moves toward the basement door, her footsteps muted by an old rug. She opens it and descends the creaking wooden steps.

“Boys?” Wanda calls out.

The further she goes, the cooler the air becomes. Reaching the bottom, she finds herself in a space that doesn't match the rest of Agnes’ home.

The basement is expansive and ancient-looking, with stone walls draped in vines whose origins Wanda can't discern. There are candles spread around, making a circular enclosure of the empty spot in the middle. The room is filled with strange artifacts—old books, glass jars containing unidentifiable substances, and objects that seem out of place in a suburban home.

But none of that catches Wanda’s attention more than the fact that her kids are nowhere to be seen.

She turns back toward the stairs but Agnes is there, blocking her path.

“Looking for something?” Agnes asks innocently.

Wanda takes several steps back, her fists balling at her sides. “Who are you?”

Agnes looks pleased by that question. “The name’s Agatha Harkness. Lovely to finally meet you, dear.”

—

As soon as Darcy mentioned mind control and fabricated reality, you had to get out of the car. Darcy follows suit, and you wait for the punchline, but it never comes. It sounds crazy, but then, this town has always made you feel crazy. Maybe it's not so far-fetched after all.

But what’s inconceivable is Wanda being behind all this madness.

“Wanda? My wife Wanda?” you ask weakly, knowing there’s no one—perhaps no one within a thousand miles—who shares her name.

“Yes, but not exactly,” Darcy says. “She's manipulating everything—people, places, even time. Including you.”

Including you? You don’t feel like you’re being manipulated—not exactly. But whatever this is, it’s starting to wear thin, grating at your patience.

“Is this some kind of prank? Did Agnes put you up to this?”

“I wish it were a joke,” she bemoans, sounding like she means it. “Think about it. Do you remember anything before Westview? How you got here? Your life before this?”

“Of course I do,” you insist, but as you try to recall specifics, your memories blur—faces without names, events without context.

“What's your last clear memory before moving here?”

You try to answer, but your mind keeps drawing a blank.

“Exactly,” Darcy says gently.

You shake your head. “No, this is ridiculous.”

“I know it's hard to accept, but you have to believe me. Wanda is controlling everything, and you're a part of it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you might be the only one who can stop her. The only one she'll listen to.”

“Why me?” you ask, heart pounding. “Do you even know me?”

Darcy shifts her weight under the streetlamp. “I’ve… read about you. You're Y/N, an Avenger, just like Wanda was before... before all this.”

“An Avenger?” You frown, the word sounding not entirely foreign to your tongue. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Darcy raises a brow. “You seriously don’t remember the Avengers? Earth’s mightiest heroes? You were part of a team that saved the world—multiple times.” She says it like it should trigger something, like the name alone should spark recognition. But it doesn’t. And already, you don’t like the sound of it.

You shake your head, lips pulling into a faint grimace. “Sounds like a PR stunt. If these so-called heroes are real, they shouldn't be worshipped like celebrities.”

Darcy chuckles softly. “You know what, you have a point there. But considering one of them is literally a god, it kinda leaves me, I mean us—with, you know—no choice.”

“One of them is a god?”

“Yeah, Thor. Tall guy, wields a hammer, controls thunder. Ridiculously hot. Ring any bells?”

She might as well be describing a cartoon character. You run a hand through your hair before grabbing a fistful of it in frustration. “This is crazy.”

“It is,” Darcy agrees. “But that’s our world now, apparently.”

You take a deep breath. “If what you're saying is true—”

“I swear it is,” she insists.

“Then how did I end up here? Why would Wanda do this?”

Darcy sighs. “It’s a long story.”

You glance at your watch. It’s 11:05 in the evening. Wanda will be looking for you anytime soon.

“You have five minutes.”

—

“Where are my children?” Wanda demands, her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Where are my children?” Agatha imitates her like a parrot. “My, that accent does like to play hide and seek, doesn't it?”

“Where are they?” Wanda yells, throwing her hands up in front of her, ready for the offense. She summons her powers on Agatha, but nothing happens. The shimmering crimson she relies on fails to appear. Agatha relishes in it, letting out a boisterous giggle.

“Oh, your magic’s no good here,” Agatha reveals.

Before Wanda can react, Agatha lifts her hands, and from her fingertips erupts a swirling purple energy that crackles through the air. In an instant, the magic lashes out, snapping around Wanda's wrists and ankles. With a sharp pull, Agatha yanks her forward, the force dragging Wanda off her feet and toward the center of the room. The bindings constrict, holding her limbs in place painfully, causing Wanda to squirm.

“Didn't you notice?” Agatha smirks haughtily. “On the walls? Basic protection spell. No? Nothing? These are runes, Wanda.”

Wanda glances around, her gaze falling upon the glowing inscriptions etched into the stone but they mean nothing to her. She struggles against the magical restraints, but the more she fights, the tighter they grip.

Agatha circles her, looking very much proud of herself. “In a given space, only the witch that cast the runes can use her magic. How do you not know the fundamentals?”

Runes? Fundamentals? Wanda narrows her eyes at Agatha. “Who are you?”

Agatha smirks, tossing the question back like a live grenade. “Who are you?” she challenges, staring down the bewildered, clueless witch before her.

Confusion flashes across Wanda's face. “What are you talking about?”

Agatha starts circling her, slow, like a vulture. “You've been pulling off magic tricks that take lifetimes to master—casting illusions, transmutation, hijacking minds. All on autopilot. Without any damn training. You will tell me how you did this.”

“I didn't do anything,” Wanda protests. “I'm not—”

That seems to shatter Agatha’s last ounce of patience. She flings Wanda back and forth like a ragdoll, each toss violent and jarring, until Wanda is back where she started, gasping for breath.

“I tried to be gentle, to nudge you awake from this pathetic daydream. But you'd rather fall apart than face your truth.”

Wanda clams up, unable to refute the other woman’s words. All of a sudden, Agatha yanks a hair from Wanda's head.

Clutching the strand, Agatha murmurs, “Revelare vitae memorias.” A purple aura envelops the hair as she weaves her spell.

Wanda tugs against the magical restraints binding her. “What are you doing?”

Agatha shrugs off the question, focused on completing her spell. She conjures a door on a previously bare wall, the surface pulsing with her energy. She flicks a strand of Wanda’s hair towards it, watching as the door swallows it and burns even brighter.

“Time for some real reruns.”

—

Darcy's theory seems just as absurd with the revelation that Wanda has been controlling the entire town this whole time.

“Faking my death and not being there for Wanda when she comes back just doesn't add up,” you say, kicking a stone as you pace in circles. Darcy sits on the pavement, watching as you wear a path in the ground.

“Why not?”

You stop pacing and look Darcy squarely in the eye. “Because I love her. She doesn't need to ‘kidnap’ me to stay with her.”

Darcy throws her hands up in exasperation, looking as lost as you feel. “Look, I don't know why Wanda brought you here! I don't know why you couldn't just be together in the real world or why she did this to Westview,” she walks closer to you. “I'm just as in the dark as you are.”

Her uncertainty only adds to your doubt. “Who are you anyway, Darcy Lewis? How did you even end up here?”

Darcy sighs, realizing she hadn't properly introduced herself or explained the situation right. “Okay, yeah, sorry. I'm…an astrophysicist. S.W.O.R.D—it’s a US government agency—contacted me more than a week ago about an anomaly in New Jersey. I was outside the Hex—this red barrier enclosing all of Westview—trying to figure out what's going on here. And then I got sucked in.”

“Sucked in? How does that happen?”

Darcy hangs back, weighing what's appropriate to share and what isn't. The image of you dying mere seconds after you emerged from the barrier seems to straddle both categories, but given the incredulous way you're looking at her—as if she's sprouted ten heads—signals your dwindling trust. If she doesn’t talk soon, she might just lose this rare opportunity to get you to their side.

She signals you to take a sit on the ground first, but you merely stare at her, waiting. “Well, it's complicated,” Darcy starts. “But before I ended up here, I saw something you need to know.”

“Go on,” you say cautiously.

She takes a deep breath. “You were dying.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“Last night, you tried to cross the boundary of the Hex,” she explains. “But as soon as you did, you started disintegrating—turning into dust.”

You stop cold. That dream where Wanda was vanishing—

Was it you all along?

Darcy continues, “We didn't know what to do, how to help you. But then the Hex started expanding—fast. I couldn't escape, and now here I am.”

You barely register her words as you try to piece together your memory of last night. Is that why you felt déjà vu on the way here? Because you've been here before? Because you've actually been outside?

Could Wanda be the reason you can't recall what Darcy claims happened last night? Has your wife really been manipulating you? Using her powers to deceive you?

“No,” you shake your head firmly. Wanda wouldn't do that to you, wouldn't impose her will on you, let alone on thousands of people.

“I'm sorry,” Darcy murmurs, her voice low. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I wish I was lying, but I swear I’m not.”

“Prove it,” you demand, in a last, desperate attempt to cling to the life you've built here with Wanda, to preserve the trust you've placed in the person who means the world to you.

“Fine,” Darcy exhales sharply, pausing to think for a moment. “I got it!”

You cross your arms, waiting expectantly.

“Do you remember your assistant, Geraldine?” she asks.

The fact that Darcy knows about her already turns your stomach. It means she wasn't lying about the broadcasts outside, where people have been monitoring the situation all this time.

You nod, unable to speak. The fear grips you so tightly you worry you might lose the dinner you had just an hour ago.

“Geraldine isn't who you think she is. Her real name is Monica Rambeau. She's an agent from S.W.O.R.D., sent here to investigate what's happening inside Westview.”

“That doesn't make sense. I've known Geraldine for months—”

“Have you?” Darcy counters gently. “Think about it. Can you recall anything about her life outside of work? Her family? Where she lives?”

You open your mouth to respond but realize you can't summon any details. It's as if those memories are just... missing.

Just like every other little detail in your life.

“I… I can’t—”

Darcy nods sympathetically. “That's because you’re all just playing a role here. Monica tried to reach out to her, to help her see what's real, but Wanda forced her out of this reality.”

Geraldine's resignation is a vague memory, nothing more. If Wanda has been pulling the strings, she's been selective with the memories she's allowed you to keep. That much is certain.

And you’re conflicted. No, that’s not quite right—you’re overwhelmed. You feel betrayed, most prominently. But beneath that, there’s guilt. Deep down, you’re troubled by the thought of how much pain Wanda must have endured to go to such lengths. It pains you too, knowing she suffered so greatly. If this isn't going away anytime soon, that means she's still hurting. And if you're going to agree to help Darcy figure this out, you’re going to do it for Wanda’s sake, not theirs.

Making this decision would be simple if not for—

You look down, your voice barely above a whisper. “And our kids? Billy and Tommy?”

Darcy looks away. “We couldn't find any records of them,” she says. “They're not documented anywhere in Westview.”

A sinking feeling grips your chest. “They're our sons—they're real.”

Darcy doesn’t say anything. Your eyes begin to sting as you walk into the middle of the deserted road.

You're not sure how long you stood there, contemplating the plight of these innocent people and the dangers looming over your family beyond this town. You gaze at the wedding ring on your finger. Being Wanda’s wife brought you nothing but joy. Being a mother to your two boys made you feel whole. Can you really let all that go?

Just as Darcy is about to check on you, having waited a while, you catch her off guard by walking back.

“What do you need me to do?”

—

Wanda's eyes dart around. “No... not here,” she whispers, recognizing her childhood home.

She thought those memories were lost—how a seemingly ordinary evening spiraled, altering her life forever. Seeing her mama and papa’s faces is a miracle in itself. Wanda had forgotten their features, unable to carry even a photograph of them for so long.

And Pietro—god, how she's missed him. He was the last sliver of Sokovia, the last piece of home she clung to before becoming an orphan in every sense of the word.

Life was simple then. It wasn’t always comfortable or peaceful, but they were happy as long as the four of them were together.

Wanda watches on, a helpless spectator as the mundane scene before her—an evening of sitcoms on the living room floor—is shattered by an explosion before the screen cuts to black.

She squeezes her eyes shut. When she dares to look again, devastation greets her. Her younger self and Pietro huddled under rubble, a Stark Industries missile mere feet away, its ominous beeping the only sound in the deafening silence.

Agatha muses, “You stared at that bomb, waiting for it to go off. Did you use a probability hex?”

“No, I…” Wanda blinks, her mind reeling . “It just never went off. It was defective. We didn’t know that. We were… we were trapped.”

“For how long?”

“Two days.”

Agatha hums, sizing up whether this incident had any real impact on Wanda’s recent exploits. Despite the trauma Wanda has endured, Agatha remains skeptical, and she steers them down another bend in memory lane.

From afar, another room takes shape—the Hydra facility, where she first encountered the Infinity Stone.

“I don’t want to go back in there.”

“The only way forward is back,” comes the terse reply.

—

Jimmy and Monica sit side by side on a surprisingly comfortable pile of hay inside one of the supply rooms of the camp, their wrists shackled behind them with cuffs this time.

“Well, at least Hayward splurged on the good hay,” Jimmy attempts at a joke, trying to twist his wrists free.

“Yeah, cause the next time I see him, I’ll be shoving them up his—” Monica bites her lip. Now’s not the time to think about all the ways she’ll make Hayward pay. Right now, their priority is getting out of these cuffs.

Reaching into his sleeve, Jimmy fumbles for a hidden pin. “Got a lockpick here. Just give me a sec—almost…”

She watches as he struggles to maneuver the pin into the cuff's lock, his fingers slipping. After several failed attempts, he lets out a frustrated huff.

“Here, let me try,” Monica says, scooting closer.

“Be my guest,” Jimmy says, sliding over the pin.

Monica grabs it, fingers deft and sure. A soft click follows. In a flash, she's free, reaching over to unlock Jimmy's cuffs.

“Impressive,” he remarks, rubbing his wrists.

“Years of field training.”

Jimmy fishes out his cellphone. “Guess they missed this in the pat-down.” He punches in a number. “Calling for backup from Quantico.”

He steps aside, murmuring into the phone, while Monica edges towards the door. She presses an ear against the rough wood, listening hard.

“Any luck?” she murmurs as he ends the call.

“They're sending a team, but we're on borrowed time,” he whispers back.

“Listen,” Monica says suddenly, holding up a hand.

Silence falls. There’s a muffled sound of chaos outside—high-pitched voices, scrambling footsteps, panicked commands.

“Is that... fighting?” Jimmy's eyes go wide.

“Sounds like it,” Monica says. “But who would be engaging Hayward's agents out here?”

“Maybe another S.W.O.R.D. team?”

She shakes her head. “Unlikely. They trust Hayward too much to send more scouts.”

The clamor grows—a cocktail of grunts, barked orders, and the dull thud of bodies smacking the ground. And then guns firing off nearby.

“This is bad,” Jimmy mutters. “We're sitting ducks. Unarmed ducks.”

Monica's gaze sweeps the area. “We need to find something to defend ourselves.” She snags a rusted metal rod from beside a stack of crates and hands it to Jimmy. “Here.”

He grabs it, his grip firm. “Better than nothing.”

She hoists a solid-looking plank. “Stay alert.”

Suddenly, the outside noises cut off, dropping the world into unnerving stillness.

“Why did it just go quiet?” Jimmy whispers.

Monica takes an offensive stance. “I don't know, but I have a feeling we're about to find out.”

Footsteps draw near—steady, unhurried. The door handle rattles slightly.

“Get ready,” she says, positioning herself beside the door.

Jimmy nods, holding his makeshift weapon at the ready.

The door creaks open slowly, and a sliver of light spills inside. They hold their breath as the door swings wider.

A shadowy figure looms at the threshold, silhouetted against the harsh daylight. Without waiting to see if this was a friend or an enemy, Monica lunges forward, swinging her plank toward the intruder. Jimmy follows suit, thrusting his metal rod in a coordinated attack.

But the figure dodges their attack like they're made of smoke. With a fluid sidestep, you evade Monica's swing, the plank slicing harmlessly through the air. Simultaneously, you pivot gracefully, ducking under Jimmy's thrust. In one seamless motion, you sweep your leg, knocking the rod from his grasp and sending it clattering across the floor.

Before they can regroup, you're behind Monica, coaxing her wrist until the plank clunks to the ground with a dull thud. Both agents stumble back, dumbstruck.

Monica’s about to charge again when you raise your hands.

“Easy,” you say hurriedly. “I’m not here to fight.”

Jimmy looks at you with utter shock and awe. “How did you—”

You smile thinly. “No time for explanations.”

Monica squints, peering harder. Something clicks. “Wait... Are you Y/N?” she murmurs in disbelief.

Recognition dawns on Jimmy’s face too. “It is you!”

You nod slowly. “I am.”

Monica keeps searching your face, like she's double-checking if it's really you. There are small differences between this you and the one in the Hex—your hair's shorter, framing a face that's sharper with…age. The lines around your eyes are deeper, and there's a hardness in them now that wasn’t there before.

“Wait, how did you escape the Hex unharmed?” Jimmy asks. “The last time you tried, it looked like you weren’t going to make it…”

You shake your head. “I didn't escape from Westview.”

“What do you mean?” Monica asks. “You're inside the Hex with Wanda, aren't you?"

“No,” you reply evenly. “That wasn’t—isn’t me.”

Just then, footsteps approach from behind. You spin around to see Clint, his bow slung casually over his shoulder.

“Well, that was quick,” you note.

He smirks lightly. “It would've been quicker if I weren’t so rusty.”

“Clint, is it true what she's saying?” Monica asks.

Clint nods solemnly. “Yeah. I made a rookie mistake by not considering the possibility that the Y/N in Westview and out here in the real world aren’t one and the same.”

Jimmy looks baffled. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“When I saw Y/N on that broadcast, I assumed she was inside the Hex. But when we saw the one from Westview disintegrating after she emerged from the barrier, that’s when I realized that something else was going on here.”

Jimmy's face screws up in confusion. “Then who was that?”

You lean back against the wall, a wistful look in your eye. “Based on what Clint told me, she's both me and not me.”

Jimmy throws up his hands. “I'm getting confused.”

“That's Wanda's version of me—the person she left behind five years ago,” you say.

Monica's eyes stretch wide as the penny drops. Is Wanda that powerful to be capable of what you’re implying?

“When you say she's Wanda's version...” She trails off, not confident to finish the thought.

“Wanda created her,” you say, as casual as if you were commenting on the weather. “Wanda doesn't know I'm still alive.”

—

“Exposure to an Infinity Stone,” Agatha muses, eyeing the memory of Wanda clad in a grimy gown that the Hydra facility dressed her into. She grimaces slightly. “That explains some of it, but not all.”

With a subtle gesture of her hand, another door materializes—a portal to another place, another time. Another memory—but this time, not a painful one. Wanda doesn't hesitate this time and walks towards it. There’s no choice in the matter, really. Might as well get it over with.

Behind the door is a well-lit kitchen. The countertops were sleek and clean, aside from an open jar of peanut butter and a half-empty jar of jelly sitting next to a loaf of bread. A butter knife rested on a plate smeared with both spreads, and a glass of water sat nearby, condensation pooling in a faint ring on the stone surface.

You were standing at the large kitchen island, carefully cutting the corners of your sandwich when Vision phased directly through the wall to your left.

“Jesus!” you yelled in surprise, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering against the plate.

“Well, well,” Agatha drawls, leaning back with an amused smirk as she turns to Wanda. “I must admit, I never pictured her as the type to take the Lord’s name in vain. Your wife looks like such a proper lady here in Westview, dear.”

Wanda remains motionless, her entire focus on you as this memory comes rushing back to her. You weren’t even friends yet, and Wanda had already noticed how distant you kept yourself from her. It wasn’t hostility, exactly, but it was clear you didn’t like her much back then. And she couldn’t blame you.

“My apologies,” Vision said.

You scolded him for announcing himself that way before he formally introduced himself to you. With a sigh, you told him you already knew who he was. Without missing a beat, Vision asked what food you were preparing.

“It's a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“The coloration is intriguing,” Vision noted. “I haven't encountered many purple foods in my lifetime.”

To Agatha, the exchange seems utterly trivial—and not to mention, boring. Yet, it only makes her more curious about why this particular memory has surfaced.

“Speaking of food,” Vision began, “Miss Maximoff hasn’t eaten. Nothing in over twelve hours.”

You were just about to take your first bite, but the mention of Wanda made you freeze.

“And why is that my problem?”

“Given that her quarters are adjacent to yours, I thought you might be concerned,” Vision said.

“Concerned? About the person who messed with my head? Hard pass.”

“Oh,” Agatha chimes in, continuing her unsolicited commentary. “Was your wife not particularly fond of you in the beginning?”

Wanda shakes her head slowly. “She hated me.”

Agatha’s grin widens. “And that drew you to her? Well, aren’t we a little kinky.”

The memory continues with Vision gently reprimanding you about the poisonous effects of resentment. You brushed it off with a sharp retort, making it abundantly clear just how little you cared.

Vision didn’t press the matter further. “Very well. If you’ll excuse me.”

He turned to leave, this time opting for the doorway instead of phasing through the wall.

“Wait,” you called out, piquing Agatha’s interest.

Vision stopped, looking back at you expectantly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Look, just... take her something to eat. Here.” You shoved the sandwich plate toward him.

“It might be more meaningful if you delivered it yourself.”

“Yeah, that's not happening.”

He accepted the plate. “I will relay the gesture.”

“Don’t,” you rushed out. “I mean, don’t tell her it’s from me.”

Agatha scoffs like she’s watching a bad rom-com. “Enemies to lovers. My personal favorite,” she says, smirking. “Two people who can’t stand each other but still do nice things behind each other’s backs. Adorable, really.”

“She didn’t know I was there, watching the whole exchange,” Wanda says softly. “I went back to my room that night, eagerly waiting for Vision to bring me that sandwich. I was so hungry.” Her voice grows even quieter as she adds, “Y/N was the first person to do anything for me after my brother died. And she didn’t even like me.”

Agatha snaps her fingers, then gives Wanda a hard look. “Here’s the punchline, honey: you come back from the Snap—five years gone in a blink for you—and guess what? Y/N didn’t make it.”

Wanda looks stunned by the reminder that in the five years she was gone, she couldn’t shield you, couldn’t stop your demise. Clint kept silent on how it happened, and even when Wanda defiantly probed his mind, she found no clues about your death.

“She was gone,” Agatha says, circling around to meet Wanda's gaze. “But you wanted her back.”

Almost reflexively, Wanda nods. “I did,” she murmurs. “I wanted her back.”

The segment shifts seamlessly to a serene lakeside setting. It's a somber day—the day of Tony Stark's funeral. Wanda of this memory stood alone, gaze lost on the serene water, while members of the Avengers paid their subdued respects to Pepper Potts in a slow procession.

It’s Clint who noticed she’d been standing there a long time already.

“Hey,” he murmured, the nippy weather forcing his hands in his pockets as he joined Wanda’s side. “You holding up okay?”

Wanda smiled faintly. “As well as can be expected.”

He nodded, sharing her view of the gray lake. “It’s tough, losing someone like Tony. Feels like we’ve been bleeding pieces of ourselves.”

Wanda sighed. “But it's not just Tony, isn’t it?” This funeral should’ve also been for everyone they lost. Natasha, Vision…

You.

“Counting our losses would just do us more harm than good, kid,” Clint said.

She gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “I just... I miss them.”

Clint's hand found her shoulder. “I get it. I miss them too.”

Wanda drew a ragged breath, but these days, it felt like no amount of air was enough.

“All I've ever known is loss,” she whispered. “You'd think I'd be used to it by now, that it wouldn't hurt as much as when I lost my parents, or Pietro. But this…” Her voice faltered. “Losing Y/N cut the deepest.”

Clint squeezed her shoulder. It’s meant to be comforting but Wanda felt nothing.

“I’m sorry, kid.”

“I shouldn’t have been brought back,” Wanda said, stepping back, causing Clint’s hand to fall away.

“Don't say that. Y/N would've done everything for you to come back,” he said.

She turned to him, tears brimming in her eyes. “And I would've done everything I could for her to still be here—with me.”

Wanda watches herself in the memory, turning her back on Clint without a word. She didn’t say goodbye to anyone. Didn’t pay her respects to Stark’s widow. She slipped into the driver’s seat of the car you used to own after Clint turned it over to her.

The road led her to a quiet cemetery not too far away. She parked along a gravel path and walked among the rows of headstones until she reached yours. Seeing your name etched in stone brought a fresh wave of grief crashing over her.

Dropping to her knees, Wanda was wracked with sobs, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. She cried until the tears refused to come, her body spent from the depth of her grief. Hours seemed to pass before she finally rose, shaky and streaked with tears. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and headed back to the car. Slumping into the driver's seat, she allowed herself a few more moments of inaction. In search of some small comfort, she flipped open the glove compartment and fished out your favorite CD.

As she rummaged through the assorted items, her fingers brushed against an unfamiliar envelope tucked at the back. Intrigued, she pulled it out and examined it. Her name was written on the front in your unmistakable handwriting.

With hands that trembled like leaves, she tore it open. Inside, there was a simple, elegant ring—the one she bought for you—and a folded brochure. It’s a map of a small New Jersey town. A plot of land was circled in aggressive red, and in a heart-shaped scribbled below, you've written, Where Maximoff will torment me for the rest of our days.

A smile, bittersweet and crooked, crawled its way to her face. The idea of a future you’d dared to dream together flooded her with both joy and heartache.

Compelled by a sudden urge to see this dream firsthand, Wanda started the car and set off towards New Jersey. The journey passed in a blur, her mind occupied with thoughts of what could have been. Hours later, she arrived at the ghostly town, its structures forgotten in time, lagging behind the rest of the world by at least a decade.

Following the map, she drove to the marked lot—a field overrun with wildflowers and framed by a quaint white picket fence. She walked to the center of the lot, your ring clenched tight in her fist. As the sun dipped low, it draped everything in a golden light. Right then, the full weight of her pain hit her like a freight train.

And when it happened, it started with a tingling sensation at the back of her neck, a subtle prickling that grew into an all-consuming fervor. Beneath her, the earth whispered of transformations, subtle yet insistent, as reality bended, acquiescing to the sheer force of her will.

Her powers gradually rose, a resurgent tide swelling from the emptiness that had, until this moment, consumed her. She released a primal scream as she unknowingly reshaped her surroundings—houses and streets morphed, relationships and identities changed—all molded from her memories and desires. Even the very colors of reality altered around her.

But she paid no heed to the unprecedented heights of her abilities. Her only focus was the release—the desperate emptying of her being, striving to purge the agonizing pain she’d felt since discovering you were gone.

With each exertion, she felt a piece of herself ebbing away, her essence—bright and golden—intertwining with the magic, seeping into the reality she molded. The pain was exquisite, an acute contrast to the numbness that had pervaded her existence since her return. She welcomed it, the pain confirming her existence, her agency, her power after so much had been taken from her.

As the final tendrils of red weaved the last of her into this new Westview, she felt a climactic release, as if she’d finally exhaled a burden she could no longer bear. She collapsed, the world spinning dizzyingly around her, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The town pulsed—tentatively, like the first steps of a newborn—with life, a life that was both not hers and wholly of her making.

She lay on the ground, which had metamorphosed from the soft, dewy texture of soil to the cool, smooth tiles of a pristine living room. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, bracing for the afterlife, when—

Wanda gasped, her eyes instantly watering at the sight of you, unchanged, just as she remembered before the snap, before the world fell apart. Disbelief coursed through her, yet she couldn’t look away from the miracle of you, standing there within her reach.

“Wanda,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. Extending a hand, you helped her to her feet, her left hand—adorned with a simple gold band—shaking as it met yours.

“Welcome home.”

A fragile smile began to trace her lips for the first time since her return. With your hand in hers, she stood at the threshold of her new home, crafted from all of her pieces.

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queeniewithabeanie · 8 hours ago

Text

The Nappers

Dpxdc Prompt #10

Danny was really excited to spend the summer with his second cousin(?) he didn't really remember, but apparently Jack Fenton's cousin was Gotham billionaire Bruce Wayne, a serial adopter.

Jazz had discovered the connection and gave him a call to see if he'd mind Danny staying over for summer because Danny decided he was going to tell his parents at the end of summer about his ghost problem, and Jazz wanted him to have a safety net.

He didn't really have a big family at home, with his parents being largely... absent and Jazz moving to Gotham for college. It would be great to be in a house that wasn't empty again.

Now if only his newly discovered family could stay awake long enough for Danny to talk to them.

"So how's living with our cousins?" Jazz asked him through his Fenton-phone. He flopped onto his bed and groaned.

"They're all seem nice but I haven't really seen enough of them to know yet."

"Danny, you've already been there a week, shouldn't you know them at least a little bit? You usually warm up to people quickly, as long as they aren't trying to kill you."

"Man I kinda wish they were out to get me, then I'd probably see more of them than I have already."

"..."

"Okay Danny walk me through our family, and what you know so far about them."

"Well first there's Dick, he apparently lives in Bludhaven and supposedly comes back to Gotham to visit fairly often, haven't seen any of him yet though."

"Then there's Jason, I've seen him come over after dinner a couple of times, but he's seemed in a really bad mood and I'm getting weird vibes from him so I haven't talked to him much yet either."

"Cass, Steph, Tim, Damian, and Bruce are the ones that actually live here at the manor and outside of when I first arrived I haven't actually seen them awake enough to talk to me. Anytime I've caught a glimpse of them they're taking naps and I'd feel bad waking them up, Tim especially (he looks like he needs the rest)."

"What are they, nocturnal or something?

"That's what I thought too! But the Manor is even more dead during the night than the day. If I had wanted to live with a bunch of zombies I'd have spent summer in the zone, not come all the way here."

"The only people that have stayed awake long enough for me to actually get to know them are Duke and Alfred! Duke's great, but he seems to have a day job so I only see him for breakfast and dinner and any time I can catch him before he sleeps after. Alfred's amazing, but he already has so much to do around the Manor, I feel bad bothering him."

"It is only the first week you're there, and there was a huge Arkham breakout your first day so everybody around Gotham is a bit tense while the Bats are trying to recatch everyone. Could you give it another week for me? See if it'll be an option for if our parents react badly?"

"For you, Jazz, I'll give it another week, but I can't just trade one empty house for another."

"Thanks, little brother."

"Love you, Jazz, bye."

Danny hung up the phone and sighed, he new there was something off with his cousins, but he couldn't quite place it. Constantly napping, disappearing during the nights, but always on guard when they were awake.

He had a week to figure it out, but if he didn't there'd be no real lost love. He'd come up with some excuse, stay with Jazz for the summer or something. If his parents reacted badly and he didn't have this safety net, it'd be difficult sure, but Danny and Jazz would figure it out.

Danny thought it would be nice to have some other family that had his back for once, but hey, maybe he just had shitty luck when it came to blood relations.

#listen the batfam has gotta sleep sometime #and they're out and about all the others #danny is suspicious #he'll figure it out eventually #normally alfred forces them to be on a better schedule #but when crime calls the bats answer #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #batfam

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thewalrusespublicist · 3 days ago

Note

"Tbh I was starting to feel a bit down about my blog and what I was putting out ( the eternal crisis on how to give full answers and opinions without being stupid, boring and annoying lol)"

OMG no way! Your blog is one of the best here! What i love the most is reading the analysis and meta from the users, there's always more information and good takes, and yours are always quite deep and insightful.

I would love if you share your opinions about Stuart as well. I feel like he is obviously more sanctified that he should be since he died young (like that insane quote from his mom saying that Brian told her that Stuart could have been the Beatles' manager, no way lol) and i feel his memory has been used to attack Paul, sometimes in a very unfair way. Like, i don't deny the teenage drama and jealousy that Paul felt about him but he *was* a shitty bass player and the band was Paul's future, he was allowed to criticized him not only for being John's new bestie. I also think John played with them both but i lack of your eloquence so i will love to read your take about it.

Hi anon! And the other anons!

Thank you again and to all the other messages I got, they were extremely sweet and really made my day. :)

From my inbox, it's clear you guys want to know about Stu and his role in the Beatles legacy. Well you asked for it and a novel you shall have. Be warned this might be the longest post I've done so grab like a drink or something.

A few disclaimers: I wish and had intended for this to be more of a deep dive into Stu as a whole person rather than just his relationship with John and Paul. Unfortunately I just didn't have the space to do it. If you want to know more about Stu I would highly recommend @eppysboys' blog which is the source for all things Stu Sutcliffe and where I got a lot of this info. Please check their stuff out. Also, I'm going to be a bit blunter on this than maybe I usually am because this topic has been irritating me for some time. Oh also I’m trying my best to answer a lot of asks in one post so please forgive if I don’t fully answer your specific ask about this!

Stu in a perfect world should be a fandom darling: an exciting cipher, a handsome artistic talent that died way too soon who had a major influence in the early Beatles style. It's like there’s this secret other James Dean looking mf Beatle hidden away to uncover, that's cool and he is cool! The problem is that he’s sort of becomes radioactive to talk about in a normal way due to how he's been portrayed and utilised in some biographies and fandom spaces, particularly those that have been infected by John Lennon aspirational boy bestie syndrome. As those types of spaces cannot seem to exist without tearing down Paul to prop John up as their special lil guy, Stu as John's other best friend has become the ideal heavy object to hit Paul McCartney over the head with. It's like a corrosive element, the minute Stu hits a Beatles bio, the biographer suddenly loses all training in objectivity and source work and starts waxing lyrical about 100 percent reliable never biased or wrong Saint Stu of Hamburg who died for our condom arson sins and that Paul McCartney should feel bad about every day of his life for not worshipping Stu and not accepting his own ‘place’ in life as John's just-some-guy placeholder best friend. I’ve personally seen so many posts and forums where Stu being mentioned leads to a legion of comments about how Paul could never have been Stu (correct both ways) and how John would never have even glanced at Paul for much longer if Stu had been alive. Sidenote: If you seriously think that the musical savant from down the road whom John went on to produce the most prolific song writing partnership in history with couldnt have kept his attention for long then I'm begging you on hands and knees to get your head out of the arse of your John Lennon body pillow and be serious. But anyway…

This boy bestie battle royale approach has in turn lead to a reflex reaction where Stu gets studiously ignored by other sections of the fandom as a precedent has been set that shining a light on him diminishes Paul and John's relationship with Paul. It's frustrating because if people weren't so keen to cut Paul out of his own story then we would get a much better nuanced view of every single person involved.

So let's put aside all of our defenses, cut the John Lennon loved one ranking system bullshit and lets look at the actual question here which is what was John and Stu's relationship really like and what did he mean to John?

John and Stu met at art college a year or so after Paul and John met. Up to that point John and Paul had their fun little codependant thing going on but Stu quickly became a huge fixture in John's life. Stu had things that Paul couldn't really offer at that point in time. John was at his heart a musician who aspired to be seen as an artist (he would later express surprise that he didn't become an artist). Stu was the passionate artist who knew tons about the art of the period that could teach and inspire John. Their creative leanings meant they could work on projects together and share art notebooks and poetry. (Including yes the one with anti-semitic story which I mention again as I believe it's an important thing to remember when it comes to both John and Stu and the culture of the time.) Stuart by the sounds of it was even writing a novel about John at the time of his death. They were fascinated and inspired by each other.

So, creatively they fired each other up but more importantly perhaps, Stu and John were peers. It's funny to think about when you see the Beatles later but at the time Paul and George were the kids in their school uniform coming to see their cool older friend at art school. That's an important divide. When Paul and George's parents insisted their kids do their homework and go to bed, John and Stu could stay up and talk all hours of the night, which they did. They also could rent a place together and spend long hours chatting (despite John moving out later after realising electricity cost money lol.) There's a different dynamic that the age similarity offered as well. Whilst Paul would later somewhat grow into this role, Stu could act as an authority figure to John as well as open up to John in a way you can really only do with your peers. Stu was the person John opened up to throughout Stu's life:

How long can one go on writing and writing like you. I now don’t really know who I’m writing to or why it’s quiet peculiar. I usually write like this and forget about it but if I put it in a little part of my [almost?] secret self in the hands of someone miles away who will wonder what the hell is going on or just pass it off as toilet paper. Anyway I don’t care really what happens because when I think about it, it’s so bloody unimportant – but what is important who has the right to say that this letter is not important and this is a something any way – anyway – anyway – yeah! I wonder what it would be like to be a cretin or something. I bet it’s gear. & how are you keepin Stuart old chap are you as ok – is life as good – bad shite, great – wonderful as it was or is it just a thousand years of nothing and coolness on and on and on. I think this is it Goodbye Stu don’t write out of – er what is it? well not because you think you ought to write when you feel like So goodbye (from John you know the one with glasses) ANYWAY BYE BYE see you soon I don’t know why I said that I remember a time when everyone I loved hated me because I hated them so what so what so fucking what I remember a time when belly buttons were knee high when only shitting was dirty and everything else clean + beautiful I can’t remember anything without a sadness So deep that it hardly becomes known to me so deep that its tears leave me a spectator of my own STUPIDITY + so I go rambling on with a hey nonny nonny nonny no

Extract from a letter to Stuart Sutcliffe from John Lennon, 1961

By lots of accounts Stu was gentle but firm when it came to telling John he'd gone too far. John references this aspect of Stu to Hunter Davies:

"I looked up to Stu. I depended on him to tell me the truth. Stu would tell me if something was good and I'd believe him."

The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (Hunter Davies)

In this way I kind of see Stu as a proto-Yoko. John was so insecure and uncertain about his grip on the world and reality that he relied on Stu to be his point of reference and guide. Paul did this too later and I think in Hunter Davies John mentions this, but not at this time period and not as much due to their competitiveness. This may be why some people saw Stu as the person that really understood John at this time period:

"During the turbulent adolescence that prefaced a turbulent manhood, hardly anyone knew Lennon as intimately as Stuart Sutcliffe. If they weren't exactly David and Jonathan, June Furlong, one of the life models at Liverpool's Regional College of Art, had "never seen two teenagers as close as those two."

The Gospel According To Lennon by Alan Clayson

Now this person likely never met John and Paul together but this is only one of many similar quotes and even Julia captain of John and Paul's friendship boat seems to agree there was a period where Stu dominated and Paul 'kept his distance' from the John-Cyn-Stu 'menage-a-trois'. But the friendship wasn't perfect and his position as John's ultimate best friend was never iron clad. This is best outlined by the shit they pulled when John convinced him to join on Bass for the Beatles.

Despite being John's best friend, Stu was teased and bullied:

"They argued as usual amongst themselves, but most of all they picked on Stu, the newest member of the group. John, George and Paul had been with each other long enough to know that rows and arguments and criticism didn't mean much. If it did, you just argued back. "We were terrible," says John. "We'd tell Stu he couldn't sit with us, or eat with us. We'd tell him to go away, and he did." At one hotel they stayed at, a variety show had just left. There had been a dwarf in the show and they found out which bed he had slept in and said that would have to be Stu's. They certainly weren't going to sleep in it. So Stu had to. "That was how he learned to be with us," says John. "It was all stupid, but that was what we were like."

The Beatles: The Authorised Biography (Hunter Davies)

Why John encouraged this I have no idea, maybe jealousy over Stu's looks and wanting to play people off each other? Things were tense in both Scotland and Hamburg, especially between Stu and Paul. As I said in my last post, the girls were fighting and it was mutual. Paul was mad for both fair and immature teenage-boy reasons. Stu could not be bothered with the bass most of the time and couldn't really play well and was only there as he was '(John's) best friend' (ouch for Paul). Paul conversely had given up higher education to be there and was sending lots of money back home. He also was dating the girl Paul fancied. Stu was popular with the new group and also did mean things like help John steal Paul's money when money was really tight for him. Paul in turn was a passive aggressive, jealous and mean. It all came to ahead in the punch up onstage which according to Spitz came about from Paul wanting money back and saying that Stu could borrow some from Astrid. Stu goes for him and reports vary from full-on bust up to embarrassing scuffle. Stu then goes to where Astrid and Paul's gf Dot are, demands Dot leaves and goes on a rant about Paul. Now all of this must be framed in the context of Stu receiving increasing brain damage from his condition that seemingly lead to mood swings and anger. Nevertheless, the mutual needling and anger, as well as John's refusal to do/say fuck all about it, especially given how protective John was of Stu, suggests that it wasn’t straightforward and/or John may have been playing some games to make both feel threatened. This would also make sense as to why we hear conflicting accounts of John and Stu being the centre of everything and everyone else in orbit AND John and Paul being the centre and everyone else playing catch-up, as well as John giving Paul the lead to take him round the Reeperbahn when John got dressed in the gorilla costume. (I know Paul may have just been the closest there but that always gave off bestie behaviour to me.)

(I did get an ask about how John and Paul's friendship survived it, I think it was damaged by Hamburg. When Paul got back home he got a job at a construction site and there's just a vibe of everything being a bit on tenterhooks. John also acts a bit weird at the period, not talking to anyone for a few weeks then making a lot of weird demands from Paul. I'm really not sure what to make of it.)

Even when he's back in Liverpool, John still writes long letters to Stu and vice-versa. I can't find it at all but I’ve read a really sad interview with John saying he missed his best mate and it's a shame that he's not with them. He had no idea at that point that Stu had already died of a brain hemorrhage at 21.

John is said to have gone into hysterics when he found out Stu had died. A lot of people who've spoken about this time (Aunt Mimi, his sister Julia, the Exsis) concur that at this point Stu was his best friend and the death shattered him. He even told Astrid he wished he could give his life for Stu’s. This is backed up by the fact that John never forgot Stu and his shadow lingered for the rest of John's life:

Stu was recalled in In My Life

Years later, after John composed the first of his truly poignant and heartfelt Beatles songs, "In My Life"—with its lines about "friends I still can recall/some are dead and some are living"—he revealed to me that the two people he had had uppermost in mind were myself and Stuart Sutcliffe. And then he stunned me with a statement that I'd never heard him address to anyone—least of all to another man. "You know, Pete," he said softly, "I do love you. But," he quickly added, "I loved Stuart as well."

Weird that Paul isn't mentioned surely you think that he would be mentioned if Pete was there too okay, okay my tin hat is going away this isn't the time

Pete Shotton, Nicholas Schaffner, John Lennon: In My Life

In 1965 John drew Stu on a postcard

He apparently said this about Stu prior to sending the postcard, prompted by an article about Stuart.

The card had been sent from Genoa mid-way through the Beatles' Italian tour. [...] But the conversation had become maudlin when I reminded him that he was going to talk to me for an article about Stuart. [...] In that sad telephone conversation before they set off for Milan, I asked him if he was happy: 'I'd be a lot happier if Stuart was still part of us,' he said, 'The Beatles would be complete.' And before he rang off he said 'Ill send you something.'

He also appears on the cover of Sgt Pepper

As mentioned, Stu gets mentioned in Hunter Davies in terms of wistfulness and guilt AND he gets a mention in John's insane 'if I were a homosexual' ramblings in early 70s. According to Yoko, John also wanted Yoko to write letters to him and didn't think it would be strange because Stu wrote letters to him.

I have a pet theory that as with a lot of things for John, his unresolved grief over Stu really came to the fore in the late 60s now that he had actually had a chance to sit down and think about things. I believe it was partially why he wanted Yoko to write letters and why he gets mentioned in the early 70s as a collaborator/best friend and not in 1980 where John only gives that credit to Paul and Yoko. I think with the cracks with Paul, John had started to think back on his old friend and guide and what advice he would give.

Stuarts presence is still felt throughout the seventies:

“He told me everything. He loved to talk about Hamburg. There were no secrets. It was the kind of life I never knew…. It meant total freedom. At his side always was Stuart, sweet Stuart. There wasn’t a time in John’s life when he didn’t think about Stuart. He spoke always of his love and respect for Stuart.”

Yoko discussing Stu in When They Were Boys: The True Story of the Beatles’ Rise to the Top by Larry Kane

Coming to grips with his death is also present in Skywriting

SEAN O’HAIRE: What happened to Stuart Cliff? DR. FISCHY: What happened was a full exchange of energy where it was not needed within the expression of your own self or in the energies involved around and about you. We cannot call it a happening. We’ll say it is an awakening, for in that way it has served an expression from the past to the present and to the future to where there shall be more of that incomplete vibration expressed to you in a more fuller understanding.

Skywriting by Word of Mouth, John Lennon

This isn't exhaustive but I think from all this it's pretty clear that John adored Stu, John grieved Stu and kept grieving Stu. Stu had a specific place in his life as a confidant that he tried to recreate with Yoko. At the time of Stu's death, he was John's best friend, probably slightly over Paul. Stuart had been able to be both a friend and paternal presence, a confidant and an artistic collaborator. His presence and loss was one of the foundational points in John's life.

But as we've been asked to play this stupid game and so many bios like to make a hoopla about it, were they at their closest ever as close as John and Paul were at their height?

No.

How do we know? Because John told us so:

" He [Paul] still is the closest friend I've ever had, except for Yoko, so I'm still close to him whatever goes on."

John Lennon to an interviewer, 1971

But Walrus! John just says shit! How do we know he isn't leaving out Stu because the press don't know Stu. Well true John does just say shit but this is at a time where John isn't the most glowing about Paul and he's had no problem mentioning Stu in this time period ('one of my best friends ever' would have made a similar point).

But Walrus again! If John picked Stu over Paul when they were young why wouldn't he be the boy bestie of all time, and why would John say that he was closer to Paul? Well, because of the environment and timings. Stu's death happened near the beginning of John and Paul's major bonding moments. If you look at their personal timeline, Paris, the Nerk twins, and getting signed happened just before Stu died. That's missing the major years of Beatlemania, Key West, LSD, Paul growing more into being John's peer and a load of other huge moments in their lives. It's like how John writes to Cyn in 1962 about wanting the house to themselves and not have Paul around all the time. Would you say because he feels closer to Cyn then that John in his overall lifetime loved Cyn more than Paul? No, because relationships change over time and theirs were no exception. (One thing to consider as well is that we don't yet have many letters between John and Paul during their Beatles years and earlier, probably because they were spending so much time with each other. We know a couple exist that Paul considers too personal for publication but I'm sure there are others. It's easy to understand what John felt for Stu as we have the letters, I think we would also have an easier time understanding what John felt for Paul if we had the equivalent of those.)

At the end of the day Paul was the man he believed he had a psychic bond with, the man he couldn’t shut up about, the man whom he’d conquered the world with with their endless collaboration, the man with a twin personality to him and according to John spent more time with throughout the 60s than he had with Yoko ever. To be frank if Paul had died in 67' I don't think this would have been a conversation.

As mentioned early, in early 1970s John elevates his partnership with Stu to his collaborations with Paul and Yoko but by 1980 he’s pretty clear that Paul and Yoko are their own category.

"I was saying to somebody the other day, “There’s only two artists I’ve ever worked with for more than a one night stand, as it were. That’s Paul McCartney, and Yoko Ono.” And I think that’s a pretty damned good choice!!"

John Lennon interview with DJ Dave Sholin, 1980

There are of course the what ifs. Would Stu still being alive mean that John was not as close with Paul? Maybe, highly doubtful though as the Beatles experience was so intense. If Stu remained a Beatle would John be as close with Paul? If Stu remained a Beatle he wouldn't be Stu so no. At the same time who knows what it would have been like if Paul and John were peers from the off? I said this to @the62ndbugsfan when it comes to Stu vs Paul (hi girl sorry i've made our chat a whole ass post lol) but to go a bit Wuthering Heights, soulmates are made as much from the earth as they are of the stars. What binds us is our experiences just as much as our personalities. There may be a universe where Stu and John took on the art world together or became inseparable bffs again after the Beatles disbanded, but it is not our universe. In this universe Stu tragically died and John and Paul chose to become Lennon/McCartney and artistically unite themselves forever.

Even going back to Stu's lifetime, I've said it before and I'll say it again I find it interesting that not only did John choose to go to Paris with Paul rather than pay to meet up with Stu somewhere but that they arranged to meet up with Juergen and nobody told Stu until they'd already gone. Stu was shocked and didn't know if it meant the end of the Beatles which is a pretty big thing for him not to know about. Why didn't John tell him if they're apparently still writing long letters? Was it because he really wanted to do this with Paul and didn't want to hurt Stu's feelings? And that's really the point I want to make here. Due to his trauma John was preoccupied with reinforcing ranking of relationships within his life. But the thing is friendship rankings are made up guidelines and the reality is far more complicated. You can have a designated best friend but feel closer to another friend at times, you can want to do one thing specifically with one friend and not the other for various reasons. You can (as I do) have more than one equal best friend. Friendship as with most relationships are in a constant state of flux and each friendship you have will give and mean a different thing, even if they are of similar value to you.

Paul may have ended up closer to John than Stu had been, but that doesen't make John's relationship with Stu any less special. Nor does Stu negate the significance of Paul. Whilst both fit into John's pattern of intense relationships and demands related to that, both had unique positions and meaning to him. Considering what I've gone into about John's closeness to Stu, it actually says something deeply, borderline unnervingly, intense about John and Paul that Paul pipped Stu to the post. Maybe it's time Beatles bios accept the fact that John Lennon just wouldn't be into them like that, stop using a tragically prematurely deceased young man as a prop in their jealous psychological warfare against Paul McCartney, stop perpetuating one of the most damaging games that John did to his loved ones and allow both relationships the space to shine and showcase the amazing talent that was the Beatles and those that surrounded them.

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iwoulddieforher · 20 hours ago

Text

Rigid | Casey Novak × Alex Cabot

Author's Note: This got super out of hand with the length- I think this is the longest fanfiction I've ever written. Hope you enjoy it, though <3 ~16k+ words

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff. I like the idea of Alex being neurodivergent in some way, even if she doesn't know it herself, so some of her self-descriptions will come off that way.

Summary: Alex wants desperately to be able to relax like she sees her colleagues doing, and a night watching a coworker she has her eye on- Casey Novak- might present itself as the opportunity to get what she wants.

Porcelain dolls strung up by small transparent strings were significantly less rigid than Alex Cabot currently felt. How she usually felt, even.

High-class family, posh preparatory school, strategically made connections rather than real relationships were all she grew up knowing. Everything had a meaning, a purpose, a reason for why it was so, and that also applied to every detail of her appearance and demeanor must similarly be intentional. She grew up internalizing that, and thus, as an adult she utterly lacked the ability to let her spine curve into a natural slump, to lay in bed without wondering what it would look like to a non-existent observer, to kiss someone in a way that focused on the intimacy rather than the shifted facade that she displayed in order to appear desirable.

It felt inhuman. She really hated it. The feeling she coped with daily made her skin crawl as if it was begging to be torn off to reveal a real person behind it instead of the ever-complicating mask.

It was especially noticeable to her on days like these, where a high-profile case had just been absolutely devoured by her colleague, Casey Novak, so the squad room was positively thrumming with excitement and a collective sense of triumph. Olivia, the one Alex had made a habit of perching herself by, was currently at the corner store to pick up a bottle of something to share, so the attorney was standing almost aimlessly against the brunette detective's desk. Across the desk was Stabler, in his respective chair, looking up at Casey who had chosen to place herself on the edge of his desk. Munch was in his rolly-chair, with Tutuola leaning over the back of it, Cragen standing stiffly but not uncomfortably near the commotion like a proud father.

"And that absolutely little weasel of a man-" Casey chirps, as much as a voice as low as hers could sound like a chirp, interrupted by a bark of laughter from Stabler, "Sorry, that boot-licking short ass bottom-feeding rodent-"

"Casey!" Stabler admonished, although his eyes were shining with amusement, and the faux blonde woman laughed and swatted at him half-heartedly.

"Yes, okay, I'll mind my manners. The defense counselor, before the trial, told me that because I'm pretty if I want after the duration of court he'll give me some tips on improving- and now I won, and when he was walking out, I managed to shoot him a smile and say 'if you want any tips, just call Novak at the DA's office'- I thought he was going to deck me right there-"

Casey's storytelling is rewarded with a roar of laughter from the men, her face shining with victory and the aftereffects of a battle well fought, and Alex can't help but find her beautiful. Casey Novak was anything but rigid, and Alex wished she was more like that- even if Casey's temper did get her in trouble more frequently than one would wish.

"Okay, well, don't let your victory get you all haughty, I'm still going to kick your ass tonight." Stabler snorts, after the laughter had died down, which sends Casey into a refreshed cascade of giggles.

"You? Kick my ass? Oh, you wish."

"Wait," Alex cuts in, everyone's eyes flickering to her as if they were slightly off guard that she was still following the conversation, "what's this about kicking each other's asses?"

"I'm going to hand Stabler his balls on the softball field tonight-" Casey starts before Stabler swings at her playfully and she gets distracted by shooting him a playful warning look. Alex forgot how much they acted like siblings sometimes, but the way they seemed to bounce off each other and banter so smoothly made them seem like twins. She could very easily imagine them in early teens kicking each other under a dining room table.

"Recently we've all started getting together to play softball together," Stabler interjects, granting Alex a serious response, "after big cases on the weekends we get together with some other cops and some other lawyers at night. Good way to blow off steam if justice isn't served or good way to celebrate if we do."

“It used to be a big thing, there were inter-department tournaments at the DA’s office or whatever, but now us who liked it so much just play for the hell of it, and also against the cops.” Casey nods, finally done with Stabler after managing to flick him in the middle of the forehead with her finger, which he glares at her for.

"And us who don't play softball get drunk while watching 'em." Munch says, leaning back in his swivel, with Tutuola adding a nod from just above him.

Alex bit her tongue, blinking in mild surprise. Back before she had 'died', they had gone to bars together to celebrate such things, and she didn't know any of them had really had any penchant for sports outside of Stabler occasionally mentioning his daughter's soccer or basketball results. She certainly had no clue Casey was apparently formidable enough on a softball field to hold on against a built detective such as Stabler.

"Speaking of drunk, I'm back." Olivia announces, strolling into the precinct once more, finding her way to stand beside Alex while cradling two bottles of some discounted wine, holding one up as evidence.

"Oh I got the worst fucking hangover from that shit-" Fin fires off immediately, who then gets silenced by a snort from Olivia, and the warm atmosphere is immediately resumed, Novak and Stabler beginning to chatter about proper swinging technique and which one of them was doing it wrong while Munch, Benson, and Tutuola start arguing over alcohol. Alex felt rather out of place.

Tone switching over to something light and banter-y was usually a bit difficult for her after grueling caseloads, and today especially she was just done. She didn't want to leave, though, she didn't want to be alone or god forbid find company with other stiff-necked attorneys to chat with hollow words about unnecessary topics, but involving herself in this easy exchange- especially since she wasn't entirely sure if she was invited- was hard.

"Oh, how about you join us, Alex?" Olivia suddenly exits her own argument to turn towards the blonde, her face soft the way it usually was when it came to her. "I know it's not your type of thing, probably, but it would be nice to have you there."

Her voice is earnest, and Alex had been wishing someone would invite her to accompany the drinkers, so although she entertained the puppy-eyes Benson made at her for a few seconds longer than necessary she did ultimately accept.

"Does this mean we can put bottles of something more worth drinking on Cabot's platinum card?" Munch mutters, pushing his dark glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Alex snorts.

"Tough luck, but if we go to a bar after I'll carry a round."

Olivia's head whips around and stares pointedly at Casey, firing off a quick, "No tequila," to which Casey makes the most indignant face Alex could possibly imagine on the copper-headed woman.

"Hey, that was not my fault- and also only once-" Casey defends, and Stabler starts laughing, slapping his fist on the table.

"Do you remember the whole thing with that-"

"Yes," Casey snaps, "I'm sure mostly everyone does, and if they don't then-"

"Casey, Alex wouldn't know." Olivia says lightly, elbowing the mentioned blonde, "Come on, Alex, aren't you curious? We should retell this for your sake, right?"

Alex's icy blue eyes met Casey's dense green ones, and she was momentarily indecisive. She wasn't friends with Novak, and she wasn't going to pretend that she was, as much as she enjoyed watching the copper-headed attorney play with the coworkers she was genuinely close to. She wanted to know, but as soon as she saw the guard up in Casey's posture, the way that Alex's rigid demeanor was mirrored immediately by the younger woman, she faltered.

Alex was stiff. Her spine was held to an excessively intentional angle. Even though to everyone else she seemed almost as natural as the rest of them, learned iron in her veins commanded her to be a degree of rigidness that came close to robotic. And Casey was the farthest thing from imperceptive.

In the courtroom, it was necessary to shoot the same metaphorical bullet as the one that had been fired at you, and Casey did nothing short, her vertebrae stacking above one another as she readjusted herself, jaw growing more firm, her eyes flickering to become hard and sharp in a way that would almost seem predatory had it not been for Alex's recognition that this was entirely procedural for the younger attorney. Alex knew in her head too that if she was interacting with someone else like this, she'd have done the same thing.

Lawyers had a way of exchanging thoughts without verbalization, and Casey and Alex were currently having an odd back-and-forth that happened within a fraction of a second completely unbeknownst to the rest of the room. Casey registered the swirl of thoughts in Alex's mind and her inability to formulate a response in time to seem natural, and with the ball in her court, decided to give the blonde attorney an out.

"Okay, fine," she huffed, as though she was actually unwilling to share, despite the fact she was fully aware Alex would not have moved to force her to and she could easily tamp down or distract the eager detectives, "long story short, Olivia and I started fighting, and she made a jab about me no longer being white collar's youth prodigy, so I tried.. to prove how youthful I still was- er, still am."

Alex wrinkled the tip of her nose, pursing her lips to stop from laughing at that, and Casey twitched an eyebrow jokingly before shaking her head.

As soon as her head turned, the copper-headed attorney decided to release the inelastic facade she had just momentarily constructed, leaning backward once more. To the eye of the others, nothing that demanded the level of thought that had just been executed had come close to occurring.

The older attorney wasn't entirely sure how to reward Casey for her kindness in that exchange, but she felt like she should. She made a mental note that she owed Casey something- perhaps if the copper-headed woman snarked at her sometime in the future, she'd let it go without question, or some similar social grace. Her uncle has drilled in the 'advice' that one never forgets what they owe another, lest suddenly be surprised when the other expects to collect.

"She ended up kissing this random blonde woman who was going through a divorce." Munch supplied helpfully, who earned a glare from Casey in return, and the seconds returned to passing at a more natural rate rather than the slowed pace Alex had just felt like they moved in. The conversation was resumed.

"No, the bad part wasn't even that she made out with her, but the fact her flirting consisted entirely of legal jargon-" Olivia filled in, and Alex snorted softly as Casey's head whipped in the other direction to glare at her instead.

"Okay, okay, listen- first of all, she was not a random woman, her name was Jane and we did keep in contact for the duration of her vacation here-" Casey raised a finger, cutting Liv off, "and if you understood any sort of vocabulary past fifth grade, it would have made perfect sense to you."

Alex paused, deciding this was probably a point at which a response was required to reestablish her presence so she could stop relying on Olivia to make her involved, "Well, it does seem like a- ... youthful thing to do?"

Casey's jaw fell slightly agape, and then she closed it with a huff. "Okay, well. Olivia's just pissed because I can actually involve myself with women."

"I'm not gay!" The brunette protested indignantly, to which Casey and Elliot exchanged a look that read as what-is-she-on.

Olivia was silenced for a moment, bristling, before extending her arm to rest on Alex's. "Alex, help me out, us straight girls need to stick together with all this-"

"Straight?" Alex questioned, an uncomfortable chuckle in her throat, "Olivia, you didn't know I'm-?"

"What?!" Olivia cried, straightening immediately, not affronted but apparently incredibly surprised, which Alex internally sighed at, only to be distracted by a low whistle from Casey that she decided not to respond to.

Internally, Alex was grappling with the new information that Casey was sapphic. She was too, although she understood why Liv hadn't known, she wasn't super forthright with her identity- but Casey?

After a moment's contemplation, she realized that this actually made a lot of sense and she felt mildly stupid for not having realized on her own.

"Yeah," Stabler says after a pause, "I think this is our cue to get going to the softball diamond before Liv has her whole am-i-gay breakdown right here in the squad room."

The rag-tag group collectively nods, shuffling for possessions, with Olivia still apparently on edge and lost in an internal conversation with herself about the possibility of homosexuality. After a few more moments of collecting items or putting things into respective places, and after Casey pats Olivia sympathetically on the shoulder, they begin to head out to the parking lot.

Alex clicked the key to her Cadillac, briefly pausing to obtain the address of the sports place as well as a time, since a few people wanted to drop by home to discard professional belongings or change, and because a few members of the DA's teams were still in session, before studying the exits of her colleagues.

Tutuola and Munch separate to respective vehicles, with Olivia being given a ride by Stabler as usual, and Casey splitting off from the group entirely to unlock her bike. Cragen excuses himself with the explanation that he's not going to meet up with the rest of them, he doesn't play softball nor does he drink so he's spending a nice night in instead.

Everyone's method of transportation seemed in some way reflective of themselves. Munch's windows were so tinted Alex was vaguely concerned about the potential illegality of it and Fin's car is beat up in a way that shows he doesn't abide by the physics of curbs. Olivia and Elliot's carpooling constantly served as a testament to their bond as detectives, and Casey...

"I still can't believe you actually bike here every morning. While wearing the suit? Jesus." Stabler bantered, leaning on the hood of his own car while watching Casey fumble with the lock on her bike.

"Well," she replied in a curt rasp, straightening, "that's why my legs are toned and yours would snap under water pressure-" she stopped to point at him almost accusingly, "and don't get me started on cardiovascular health."

Olivia drags Elliot into his car before the two start bickering again, and that leaves Alex watching Casey out of the corner of her eye as the attorney fixes her bike locks to the luggage rack before swinging one leg over the seat and taking off, her chin nestled in her scarf, her mid-length hair swirling behind her.

For a second too long, she lingers, but then Alex climbs into her cold car, groaning slightly at the feeling of the stiff leather on her back, before driving without picking out a destination. She didn't have anything she felt uncomfortable leaving in her car, nor did she have anything to pick up, so going to her penthouse was somewhat pointless. However, with about an hour until the designated time, staring out the window at the city streets far below seemed more interesting than staring at said streets on the ground level while seated aimlessly in her car, so she went home.

The elevator opened directly into her apartment, so she needed to use her key in the elevator pad itself, and when she did and the doors opened she dropped her briefcase right next to the door- it fell exactly the same way it would've if she had intentionally placed it, which makes her mildly irritated.

She didn't bother to kick off her shoes, placing herself on the couch in her apartment, and staring blankly at the wall. Her spine was straight, her legs angled to the side in the way her mother had taught her to make them look longer, her hands folded in her lap. Her apartment felt desolate. Her skin crawled.

She tried to focus on something- anything, really, in her apartment- but all she was met with was cold, smooth marble that her eyes slid off of. Plaquettes held her accomplishments that suddenly felt utterly pointless, framed pictures of her family or college friends that seemed impersonal. She couldn't keep a plant alive and she had never actually gone decor shopping herself, so the place was devoid of color, only shades of grey.

Alex groaned and placed her hands over her eyes under her glasses, tilting her spine backward until it hit the back of the sofa. It felt wrong, everything felt wrong, and her skin felt like it was crawling, her bones turning and burning inside her like she imagined cement would feel. It was uncomfortable in a way that wasn't painful- but that didn't stop her from fixating on the discomfort immensely.

The attorney rolled to the side, swinging her heels up onto the couch, one hand cradling her head and the other reaching to tug off her glasses. Strangely, in the dim blue lighting of the sun setting behind heavy clouds, her mind shifted to the opposite of said cold color- it landed on the shade of Casey's hair.

In the DA's office or in court when they crossed paths, Casey was stiff in the way every lawyer Alex had ever encountered was. The degree of rigidness that was learned by years of constant practice of saying and acting exclusively in intentional ways. Still, though, her eyes were always warm, in a way lawyer's eyes seldom were. But when she relaxed, which she was able to do, unlike Alex, she was simultaneously the same and also a completely different person.

She'd be lying to say she didn't know Casey was athletic- despite her unaware that she played softball, or was to any degree interested in her own physique the way her exchanges with Stabler today suggested- Alex had let her eyes linger on the other woman's arms on occasion in warmer environments when the redhead rolled her sleeves up. Her mind constructed the image of running her finger along the toned curve of her forearm, up her arm, and towards the delicate curve of her neck. In her imagination, Casey's skin was warm, and it only warmed further at Alex's motion. When she met Casey's olive-colored eyes, she was already looking back at her, eyes only half-lidded.

She felt her own cheek flush in her palm, and she sat up, shaking off the thought, but the sensation of warmth in her cheeks and the imagined feeling in the pad of her fingertip was enough to pull her off the couch, to the bathroom, where she took off the makeup she had done for court, tugging her suit jacket off, fumbling off her belt.

She wanted out of the porcelain, out of her skin for a night. She had seen the way Casey's guard had flickered up when she had faced her in the squad room, holding a mirror to the rigid body across from her, and she wanted out. The solution to that was to try to force the stiffness out of her soul so Casey wouldn't have any such thing to mirror. She had a reputation to uphold with the rest of the squad, with Liv and with Stabler, but Casey was more perceptive than Liv was- at least when it came to her- and she felt as though she knew enough to play it safe while still getting what she wanted. It would be an issue if Liv or Stabler or any of the other detectives or such lost respect for her professional standing. She was diligent, and hardworking, and she valued that about herself immensely, and she was not about to make the mistake of letting that persona fumble for a night’s activity. But still, she wanted a night where her skin felt like it belonged to her. If Casey's eyes didn't harden when she looked at her, maybe that would be close enough.

Her formal attire was replaced quickly, boot cut jeans instead of her slacks and although she didn't remove her white blouse she layered it with a loose sweater. She ran her fingers through her hair, intentionally messing with it, before nodding with satisfaction at her now slightly more casual appearance. The collar of her blouse sticking up through the neckline of her sweater was enough to not shift the persona the detectives identified with her, but she decided it was enough. It was enough that her uncle would click his tongue at her for wearing jeans while around a colleague.

She then proceeded to sit almost aimlessly on her couch again, drumming her fingers on her lap while waiting for the time to elapse so she could go to the softball field without being the first one there. In her mind, she debated writing up some notes or preparing for a case in the coming week, but she knew if she went back into lawyer mode it would just be worse trying to shake it off again. Unfortunately for her, as a kid all her hobbies were dictated- fencing, equestrian, ballroom dance and such, and since she never really grew attached to any of them and then failed to procure a hobby or pastime in her adult life, she didn't have much else to do.

Her phone chimed and she picked it up, assuming it would be something idle or law-related, only to find a text from a number she recognized, her heart thrumming insistently when it realized whose message she was currently reading.

Casey Novak→ Hello Alex, this is Casey (Novak, the one you work with, in case you know another)

Casey Novak→ Apologies for jumping this on you, but any chance we could carpool tonight? My bike is having a technical issue I can't be bothered with fixing it currently.

She waited a couple seconds before answering with,

← Seems doable. Send me your address?

Casey responded to that within a minute and Alex exhaled, mentally registering where that was, before standing up. With the detour of picking up Casey as well as the fact it doesn't really matter if she's early now because she's accompanying a player, she feels soothed to leave soon.

← Would you find it alright if I came in about a half hour?

Casey Novak→ More than alright, you have my thanks

← I'm more than happy to help.

After a pause, the message goes on read, and Alex doesn't really know what she had expected as a response. Mildly discontented, she put her phone down.

If she wasn't about to be driving, she would drink a glass of wine, but alas that was quite literally the point so she could not indulge herself. She pondered briefly the logistics of getting drunk when she was at the softball diamond, but worst comes to worst she’d just have to taxi. And, she supposed, would have to take Casey also in said taxi.

She felt her jaw grow a bit firmer at the constant resurfacing of Casey Novak in the back of her mind. Alright, sure, now they actually had plans and she was picking her up, so it made sense. But still. It wasn't exactly unlike her to develop random infatuations, desires to knock people she admired and simultaneously was irritated by down a peg, god knows the mistake with Jim Steele- but… Casey seemed… different.

Her heart muttered that Casey seemed warm and alive and her skin seemed soft and she was entirely unlike anyone Alex had ever grown attached to, Casey was not a power play, Casey was not a mind game. Casey was Casey. Alex didn't really understand what that meant.

She clicked her tongue to herself and then decided that no, she would not pursue anything with Casey. She had been toying with the idea of making that dream of tracing up Casey’s forearms with her fingertips a reality, perhaps as a flirty joke she could pass off as drunken boldness. But now her heart started to fumble in her chest at the thought, and not only in a good way. She wasn't exactly sure why her mind was suddenly reeled in the polar opposite direction of what she had been fantasizing about only a couple of minutes ago, but now she felt mildly stressed. Her skin crept little patterns on her nerves like ants blacking out a lamp, eating through power cords.

Maybe the fact she didn't really understand Casey is what sent little alarm bells ringing in her mind. To pursue meant to trust and to trust meant she had to know it all. She felt like she knew essentially nothing.

Sometimes Alex really wished she was less self-aware. She analyzed every thought or feeling she had like it was someone else’s, and therefore frequently felt as though she was drowning in someone else’s brain when in reality she was still sitting on her couch in her apartment in her clothes in her- supposedly her- skin.

It was time to leave now, anyway, so she cut herself off from her own train of thoughts to stand, and collect some items in one of her more used purses in case alcohol was split, it got snatched, or some other random misfortune that may occur to a handbag. Once she was pleased with her level of preparation she double-checked the contents one last time- car keys, one of her more mildly used wallets, phone, power bank, medical emergency kit, a notepad, a block of sticky notes, her pager, and a pen. She pulled a scarf on as an afterthought, not entirely sure if the temperature would drop as it got dark out but decided not to take that risk.

With that, she left her penthouse, standing stiffly in the elevator on the way down, staring at herself in the reflective wall the metal box had. Hmm.

Within twenty minutes, and exactly on time to the thirty minutes she had offered Casey earlier, she was parked on the street outside Casey’s address, looking up at a rather elegant brownstone. Sometimes she mused to herself that the modern aesthetic of her apartment complex far outranked the sort of shabby, oftentimes falling apart older buildings, but this seemed.. it seemed vaguely Elysian. She approved of it.

← I’m outside

Casey Novak → I’m sorry, I’m running a little late. Would you like to come up? I’ll buzz you in.

← I can wait in my car, I don't want to intrude.

Casey Novak → I’ll feel better if you just come on in. I’m inviting you. Please.

Alex blinked at that message, slowly typing out,

← Okay, then. If you're sure.

She exited her car with a furrow in her brow, locking the vehicle, and then continuing the steps up to the doorbell placard, where she found Novak’s name printed in a thin, flat font. She pressed the small silver button next to it, making a mental note of the floor and roughly which door it should be based on doorbell placement. A startling buzzing sound went off that Alex was thankfully prepared for, and she pushed open the frankly unnecessary large wood door. She traveled up the steps, to the third floor, deciding that she should start exercising more often if going up only three floors already had her inhaling a bit sharper, and she didn't need to wander reading the names next to the ringers because Casey’s door was open ajar and she was peeking her eye through the crack.

Alex caught a glimpse of Casey’s smile through the small opening, before the copper-headed woman disappeared in a flash, waving Alex in. She did as instructed, closing the door behind her tentatively. Immediately, she could not see Casey in her own apartment.

“Sorry,” the woman called, “I decided I wanted to shower beforehand so I need to straighten my hair again. That's why it's taking me a minute. Just sit down wherever you like, I’ll be done in just a second.”

“You straighten your hair?” Alex asked curiously, standing awkwardly in the foyer. Although Casey had instructed her to sit, she couldn't imagine pulling a chair out anywhere or settling herself on the younger attorney’s couch.

Inhaling deeply, she resigned to studying Casey's apartment interior with interest.

The interior walls were a smooth ivory, the floorboards a dark wood that matched the accents- the window and door frames, the stairs. Casey’s apartment was a lot more vertical than her own- where Alex had half of a floor, so her apartment was wide horizontally as well as deep, the walls were only a couple of feet on each side in the entry hallway and Alex couldn't imagine the rooms being, well, anywhere as large as her’s. But somehow, the comparison did not change the charm of the apartment.

Perhaps that had something to do with the atmosphere. It smelled like sandalwood and caramel, and the walls were lined with memorabilia- which Alex considered briefly was strange, because Casey's desk and office were almost barren considering some of the other workstations she had seen. She skimmed over smiling faces, Casey with dozens of people she’d see in this photo and never again. Casey with a little girl propped up on her hip, holding a little boy by the hand on a beach, all three smiling at the camera, but in a way that made it seem like it was almost unintentional, like someone had captured a moment in a camera which usually only existed in fond memory. Casey kissing a man with short brown hair, her arms, which seemed slightly thinner in the photo than Alex had grown to know them, (although the woman was always slim,) wrapping around his shoulders. She looked younger, happy, smiling into the kiss, and he did too. Probably during college, Alex mused. Casey’s finger, resting lovingly on his shoulder, was adorned with a silver band. Alex blinked.

She chided herself to move on with her inspection. Whoever this person was, it didn't seem like they were still in her life, unless Casey had been cheating on him with ‘Jane’. Stabler didn't take well to cheaters, so Alex really doubted that. She wasn't sure what the thrum of her heart was meant for- so she just exhaled. She couldn't drag her eyes away from it, though.

When she inhaled again, she was greeted with the scent of whatever hair products Casey was currently employing. It dragged her out of her thoughts, and it made her twinge with guilt at the thought of analyzing Casey’s history through her personal pictures. Casey was kind enough to be undeserving of an inspection.

There was no door between the foyer and the kitchen, so Alex turned to focus on that instead, her blue eyes skimming over what appeared to be a sourdough starter. Music played quietly out of some surround sound speaker, somewhere, something idle, and indie.

The dark brown of the floor was complimented well by the constant appearance of plants- not flowers, but succulents or similar. Apparently, Casey was in the middle of repotting one, because the table had a large tray with items that would suggest that.

“Oh, sorry about that-” Casey mused, appearing suddenly next to her, “I was trying to swap out pots for that one- roots were getting too big, you know, but then I got buzzed for a warrant this morning and dropped it.”

She smelled really good, and Alex wasn't happy that that was the first thing she noticed, but she did. Casey’s perfume, which Alex had noted a couple of times in the DA’s office, had just been freshly reapplied, and her hair was perfect in a way that only lasted a couple of moments after styling it. She looked in a way that Alex could only describe as warm.

Casey was dressed in a blue softball jersey that had ‘Sex Crimes’ bolded on the front in a lacy font and tracksuit pants. The usual frustration carried in her eyes and eyebrows was gone entirely, replaced with lights of excitement that showed in the way she held her hands and smiled. She wasn't wearing any makeup, only a dark lip balm that Alex now wanted to know the brand of.

“And yes,” Casey said, replying to Alex’s comment from a moment ago, despite it having felt like an eternity since then to Alex, “I do have to straighten my hair. Not all of us can be blessed with locks like yours, Miss Cabot.”

Ignoring the teasing nature of her voice as she said Alex’s more formal name, the blonde still lifted her eyebrows as if pained and shot her a look. “Please never call me ‘Miss Cabot' again- It’s just Alex to you.”

“Alright, ‘just Alex’-” Casey said, with an amused huff, before turning and waving at her abode, “verdict? You seemed interested.”

“I-” Alex pursed her lips. Casey was not stupid. If she hadn't been interested, she would've sat down like Casey had initially instructed or been on her phone, or been staring off into space. “I like it. You have a very lovely apartment. It suits you.”

“Thank you.” Casey smiles, pleased, before glancing back down at the houseplant activity. “It would feel better if I had gotten to finish this, though. My mom insists I keep them all.”

“Why?”

“You know how in law school, you’d stay shut in all the time, sleep at horrible hours, and keep the blinds drawn? She bought me a million plants and kept making me show her they were still alive to make sure I was airing my dorm and letting sunlight in. And that I was looking up from my laptop at least for a minute a day.” Casey snorts, but she seems fond of my memory. “I guess she doesn't really insist I keep them anymore. She hasn't checked, anyway. But I got used to it. I swapped out her delicate plants for succulents, though, because I forget to water them sometimes. I’m not here very much.”

“Your mother seems like an attentive woman,” Alex comments, watching as Casey’s eyes grow momentarily heavy, staring still at the plant, before she blinked it off.

“I’ve been blessed,” she answers smoothly instead, “with a wonderful family.”

There's an awkward beat of hesitation, where neither knows what to say, before Casey exhales and forces a smile. “Have you eaten anything? If you're going to drink with Tutuola, you probably need something to eat. And I need to grab my gear and such. If we leave now, we’d still be significantly early.”

“I had breakfast-” Alex starts, before seeing Casey raise an eyebrow at her, “but it was a large one, Casey, I’m not trying to tear up your kitchen.”

“Sweet or savory?” Was the other woman’s only response as she strolled into her kitchen, opening cabinets and ruffling through items.

“I don't have the time to make you something properly right now, but God help it if I let you leave here without eating something.”

Alex stood uncomfortably in the doorway to the kitchen, a small unsure frown on her face, so Casey shot her a pointed look, walked over, grabbed her arm, lightly guided and then shoved her into a chair, and then went back to trying to find something to offer her.

“You seem,” Casey looked at her as if studying her brain through her skull, “as though you’d have a sweet tooth.”

“Why do you say that?” Alex looked at her, slightly indignant. Outside of being used as a method of intimidation, it was normally rude to brazenly note observations as such in the world she was used to. It was far more polite to make it sound as though it was a question.

But Casey just laughed softly, pulling a box out of the fridge and popping the lid. She fumbled with the contents for a few seconds. In the chair Casey had set her down in, Alex could not see what it was until Casey approached, holding a dessert fork in one hand with her other carrying a plate with a generous portion of red velvet cake.

“Fancy ass cake for a fancy ass lady. I made this yesterday, so I think it's still fine to serve you, even if the frosting set a bit more than I prefer. You don't have to eat it all, but I hope you at least try it.”

With that, and not even waiting for a thank you, Casey brushed past, going to collect her sports gear. Alex felt like her head was spinning slightly with the lack of normal procedure. She was being left alone to eat cake in Casey’s apartment? Wasn't the redhead worried she would- well, Casey had commented on the fact she knew Alex was borderline snooping, but to leave her alone after that? How trusting was she? Unless this was some sort of test.

Alex decided to proceed as if it were. What would Casey be testing? How much Alex trusted her? Maybe she thought Alex wouldn't eat food a stranger gave her, well- not entirely stranger, but still. But she couldn't fault her for that, could she? Regardless, Alex wasn't like that anyway. Maybe she was testing if Alex was too prudish to eat what she had provided. That sent a small jolt down her spine- she really didn't want Casey to think she was a snob- so she lifted the fork and in small, precise movements separated a small piece from the slice.

As soon as she felt it on her tongue, she immediately broke off a much larger portion to follow it with. Fuck. It was delicious.

Soft vanilla cream coated somehow equally soft red velvet generously, but not overwhelmingly, and once Alex separated off the middle she could see it was triple layered. The flavor was delicate, but in a way that made every taste bud in her mouth moan.

If she had to go celibate for the rest of her life to eat something like this again, she just might have to consider that. This was better than sex.

“Grandmother’s recipe,” Casey purred, reappearing with a large duffel slung over her shoulder, leaning in the doorway. “Well, not really, but it was one of the first things she made after she got access to the Internet and all the baking blogs one can find on there.”

Alex was physically startled, too engrossed in her eating to have realized Casey’s presence had reappeared. Casey easily could have murdered her while she was eating cake, and she wouldn't have looked up once.

She pushed the plate as if making to stand up, holding a hand in front of her mouth as her mother had taught her- it was impolite to see people see one chew, after all- but Casey shook her head quickly and took a seat next to her, leaning back, the duffel hitting the floor with a soft thud while Casey stretched out her arms, arched her spine languidly. Alex tried not to let her eyes linger on the soft amount of muscle coating her.

“By all means, I don't mean to interrupt your indulgence.”

Alex sheepishly turned back, pausing only for a fraction of a second before returning to shoveling the cake into her mouth as gracefully as she could. Casey looked very pleased, so that settled her nerves by a fraction. She couldn't and also wouldn't complain about Casey's bemused grin.

“It's- it’s just been a while since I’ve eaten anything this good.” Alex said after a swallow, straightening in her chair a little bit, looking at the remaining bites on her plate as if they were whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

“You look good like this,” Casey said, which Alex’s eyes widened at, blinking up from the cake to Casey, who strangely looked equally delicious, “you're normally so tense. Glad my baking can fix that.”

“I- uhm,”

Casey chuckled at Alex’s fluster, resting her head in her hand. “Just teasing you. But really, I am glad you're enjoying it.”

“How did you learn to bake like this?” Alex murmured, decided to switch tracks since she wasn't very sure what was happening.

The copper-headed woman only shrugged. “You learn in a family as large as mine. I mean, if both of my parents were busy, I’m not about to let all the younger ones go hungry because the older one decided to order something only for herself. And now all my nieces and nephews demand I make them sugary shit when I’m over, so my pastries are decent enough.”

In the back of her mind, Alex was now a bit upset that she couldn't cook. Casey’s reasoning that it was due to her family made sense, but it also twinged Alex’s mind that if her parents were busy and she had nothing to eat, they'd just call for the private chef to come up and make her something nutritious enough. When she was in college, on her allowance, she had just kept ordering delivery. Casey and her seemed to contrast each other notably in that way.

“How many siblings, if I may ask?”

“Four. I have an older sister, and then there was me, and then two twin brothers and my baby sister. Not that she’s much of a baby anymore- she graduated college last year- but still. She'll always be little to me.” Casey exhaled, evidently very fond, before glancing back up. “And you, Alex?”

“I’m- I’m an only child.” Alex said, after a second, and before she could stop herself, “they needed an heir.”

Casey paused, looking up at her thoughtfully, before nodding. “I wished I was an only child a lot growing up. It's different now that I have my own life and everything, but… mm. Families are complicated.”

Alex nodded sagely at that, finally finishing her cake, and then after a small pause asked, “Did you want your own?”

The second she said it, she felt like it was wrong. It was an intrusion, and she was already in Casey’s apartment in Casey’s chair eating Casey's food with Casey's utensils. She was overstepping everything, and she was asking something from Casey she could not possibly believe she was entitled to knowing, without giving her an out.

Casey froze, her eyes icing over. She stared at Alex for a long moment, who now was sure she had done something horribly wrong, but then Casey’s eyes shifted from blank shock to mildly upset.

“Sorry- yes, I did. It didn't work out that way.”

Alex swallowed, and realized this was a decisive moment. She had relaxed, and she had slipped up, and now Casey was rigid, and if she bounced back off of Casey and tensed, she’d never get what she wanted.

So then, biting back her nature and what she was taught to say in such situations, she said softly, “It didn't for me, either.”

The atmosphere shifted entirely, so much it seemed like the colors had changed spectrum. Alex was now used to how fast her colleague could run through emotions and facades, and although that familiarity was from the courtroom, Casey’s demeanor now changing into something almost like solidarity reminded her a lot of it. Casey dropped her momentary coldness as fast as Alex could put down her form, but unlike when Alex changed the face she wore in order to elicit the response she wanted, Casey seemed like she genuinely just had a change of emotion.

“You're still young, Casey,” Alex continued, encouraged by the attorney’s return to warmth, “it’ll happen.”

“Oh, please. Alex. You’re what- two years older than me?” Casey chided, her voice light. “And you're hot as hell, so I’m sure you have suitors.”

“Casey, have you looked in a mirror recently? If I have suitors, you must have a line from here to the DA’s office.”

“Oh, you charmer.” Casey scoffed, but Alex meant it. She slid her hand underneath the now empty plate, bringing it to the kitchen, before picking up her duffel once more. “And now you get to be my driver.”

“I’m honored,” Alex smoothly joked back, collecting her purse and standing up.

She glanced around Casey’s kitchen, then glanced around the foyer, one last time before she followed the redhead out of her apartment. She noted the shift of atmosphere the second she stepped over the doorstep, and internally found herself hoping it wasn’t the last time she was there.

A more sensible part of her brain reminded her just now that she had decided against pursuing Casey, so such thoughts were not worth lingering on. Another part of her brain indignantly riled that she could enter someone’s apartment without any sort of connotation. A third part of her brain wanted to reexamine the circumstances of the decision to blacklist Casey from the possible companion category, while a third sighed loudly and wished they would all shut up. A fourth part snarled that she was not going to allow herself to be vulnerable with this enigma- yes, despite her niceness and her willingness to provide her with cake she still didn't have any grasp on Casey's psyche, so that's what she was- until she had enough to cover her ass if something went wrong. A fifth part just wanted to see Casey smile at her in the kitchen like that again. The fifth part managed to distract most of the others with daydreams.

Casey understood that Alex was in thoughts, so she did nothing to compel a response, although Alex was sure she thought she was musing about family or law or such.

Nothing was said until they reached the front door of the building, which Casey opened and offered, and then resigned to follow Alex to where she had parked. She gave a low appreciative whistle when she climbed into the front passenger seat tugging her duffel down and into the legroom.

“Fuck. I knew from the outside you had a nice car, but… jesus christ, Alex.”

“What? Oh.” Alex glanced behind her as if only just now registering that. It was a nice car. Her Cadillac had been a birthday present from her uncle, especially because her Bentley was sold off after her death. “I- thank you. Well, only the best for you, right? Now that I’m your cabbie.”

She was rather pleased with the hints of a surprised blush forming on Casey's cheekbones. If Casey kept throwing out random compliments at her, she should return that, right?

“It's just because of my bike-…”

“Please. You’re so quick to dish out the teases until I do so?” Alex hummed, amused, and Casey only huffed in response, pointedly looking forward.

Alex set the softball arena as her navigation’s destination, and allows Casey on aux, the same melodious background sound filling the car speakers as they begin on their way. Being the driver is good. If she was the passenger, she’d be darting her eyes too constantly to look at Casey. Casey apparently does not have this struggle.

“So tell me, honestly,” Alex starts, to fill the silence with a topic she knows Casey will yap over, “between you and Stabler, who has the better swing?”

“Me,” Casey says, with absolutely no question in her voice. “Elliot is good- but he’s too used to his job. In softball, most of the swing is supposed to come from the rotation of the shoulders, not the movement of the arm. Elliot relies so much on the idea of punching he doesn't really get that. He tries to push his palms forward and pushes one shoulder down. Besides, I’ve been playing softball for a much longer time than him.”

“How long?” Alex asked, glancing over at her in the passenger seat. Casey was so forthcoming with information- well, yes, Alex had asked, but…

“Since my sophomore year of high school,” Casey answered, “There was this fight involving one of my little brothers and I- well, that's beside the point. Regardless, the coach took me aside the next day, said he’d never seen someone swing like that, and asked me to try out. I did, and that was that.”

Alex let out an exhale that felt like a soft laugh, so Casey quipped in response, “Have you ever played any sports?”

“Fencing,” Alex offered, “and equestrian, for a little.”

“Equestrian?” Casey perked up, “Wow, that's amazing. I’ve always wanted to try riding a horse.”

“I didn't really enjoy it much-” Alex looked over again, and she realized that was a mistake, because Casey was looking at her with such interest in her eyes that Alex felt as though she needed to run for the hills. “I- I… it just wasn't for me.”

“Why not? If I can ask.”

“My instructors had to scold me constantly for being too stiff,” Alex murmured, trying to make it sound lighthearted despite to some degree admitting the biggest self-struggle she had, “when you're on a horse, the horse has to be an extension of you, the same way when you hold a bat- actually, I’m not entirely sure of that, I’ve never played a ball-sport, but- when the muscles of the horse move, you need to adapt and move with it. Otherwise, the horse becomes vexed.”

“So young Alexandra was just being a vex to horses?” Casey chuckled, and Alex tilted her head at the jest.

“But if you tell anyone, they’d never believe you.”

“Oh trust me,” Casey snorted, “I’m not about to let other people know about baby Alex being a thorn in some training horse’s side. That’s something only I get to know.”

“Hey. You just used the adjective ‘young’, and now ‘baby’- am I regressing? And I was more a pain in their back rather than side, unless I very immensely misunderstood where you're supposed to ride horses.”

In reality, the small thrum in her heart that she now associated with the younger attorney was very pleased with the information Casey apparently felt territorial on information regarding her. She couldn't describe to herself why that made her happy, but it did.

“Sigh. ADAs and their technicalities,” Casey shook her head, “and no, I could never accuse you of regression. You only ascend.”

“Good. Quick study, Casey.” Alex purred, the words a bit too soft and a bit too smooth, although she hadn't really thought about it that way until she saw Casey shift and decided she was very pleased she had said it.

It was Casey’s turn to fall into a blushed silence, her eyes fixing suddenly very straight on the road, as if she had never seen New York City before. Alex felt victorious, and she basked in that feeling.

They arrived at the softball field shortly, and as soon as they pulled over in the dirt parking lot and Casey stepped out of the vehicle with her duffel she was essentially jumped by a collection of random people Alex believed she probably had seen previously in the DA’s office- other ADAs, a couple interns. They surrounded Casey eagerly, spouting game talk- apparently feeding Alex cake had delayed her arrival, and she was the last one, so they had been waiting for it. The copper-headed woman gave her an apologetic wave over the shoulder as she was yanked off, and Alex felt uncomfortable. She tried not to feel as though she had just been shunned. If she had spent less time in her intern years sucking up and networking with her uncle and her uncle’s friends, perhaps she would know some of them. Her career was jump-started, she did not have the bond the others seemed to share of watching each other pull themselves up the ladder- despite knowing logically some of them must have also come from nepotism, at least to some degree.

The softball field was fenced in by wired mesh, and ‘softball field’ was really the only way she could describe it, because it was nothing else. There were a couple of bleachers that reminded her of a cheap high school movie- her school had definitely never had anything like that- but otherwise, it was just a meshed-in square in the middle of a flat field, with a large brick box-like building on the side. She spotted Munch already seated on said bleacher, though, and although she didn't know him as well as she knew Olivia, who her mind had been looking for initially, she wandered over.

“Hey,” he greeted her on arrival, motioning to the place next to him, which she tentatively sat down on after her eyes skimmed it to ensure there wasn't a layer of filth (there was, but she ignored it) “Liv's trying to hype up Elliot. He really wants to get Casey back for the last match.”

“What happened in the last match?” Alex muttered, not especially interested but aware she was required to continue the conversation, inspecting the floor of the bleachers for a place to put her purse. She decided directly beneath her was probably the cleanest.

“She- well, nothing exactly. She’s just ridiculously good. Not many of the DA team have her skill, but so long as she’s there she continuously wipes the floor with ‘em. MVP, easy.”

Munch turns to her, almost accusingly. “Oh, you're rooting for that team, aren't you?”

Alex considered that for a moment, then, “I’m rooting for Casey.”

“But, team-wise, you're on our side?”

“I’m just rooting for Casey.”

Well, we had the whole gay talk in the squad room earlier, so-”

“Careful,” Alex chided, cutting him off with a harsh look in her marble blue eyes, “your boyfriend is here.”

Munch looked over with confusion, then saw Tutuola walking towards them, and shot Alex back a glare through his dark glasses. As if on cue, Olivia materialized and plopped herself down next to Alex, handing her a flask and wiping her mouth with the back of her palm indicative of the fact she had just taken a swallow. “El has been given the best pep talk I physically know how to give. If he doesn't win, I’m done showing up to these.”

“Alex is rooting for the enemy while drinking our alcohol,” John fired, but Alex turned to him and, apparently intimidated, he visibly backed off. Olivia just laughed.

Alex took a swig from Olivia’s flask, grimacing at the feeling of vodka burning down her throat, but she took a second swig almost immediately. She already felt uncomfortable, skin prickling and writhing, and being drunk would make it better.

The game began with little issue, and Casey had meant it when she said it wasn't a real tournament so much so as a large group of very competitive friends being cheered on by a large group of friendly drinkers.

She was bored until Casey took the batter’s stand. Alex had absolutely no clue how softball was played, but Casey looked perfect.

It was probably the alcohol talking. Between her and Olivia, they had made quick work of the flask, Liv because she had started to become anxious on Stabler’s behalf, and Alex because she was double-thinking her decision to show up. But if she hadn't shown up, she never would've gone to Casey’s, she never would've gotten that cake and she never would've seen the younger woman's reaction to being told she was good.

And God, Casey was good. Alex watched her sprint, the way she swung so relaxed but so intentionally, completely in her element. It was dark other than the stadium lights, which definitely were not up to standard, but when Alex caught a glimpse of Casey's eyes she could see very clearly the glint of fierce determination.

John Munch had been very correct that the DA’s team- Casey’s teammates, were not comparable to the copper-blonde’s skill. But to that matter, neither were most of the detectives. Alex noted the reality in the way that Stabler swung as if he was trying to hook something instead of swinging a bat- Casey was right- but he still did fairly well.

Not well enough to keep up with Casey.

Every time she hit the ball with a heavy ‘thwack’ that reverberated in Alex’s spine, every time she started darting, long legs stretching out to slide the last meter, the furrow in her brow, the light reflecting off her hair. Alex felt positively dizzy. That last part could very well be from Olivia’s vodka- or so she reminded herself.

She had tied her hair into a bun- Alex mused to herself it was unnecessary for her to have straightened it, then- but it bounced as she walked up to take- no, own the stand. Her lips were pressed into that thin line she made when she was concentrating in the courtroom and was similarly undeniably attractive here, except the corners of her mouth tugged up in a fierce smile. Her movements were fluid and Alex decided that if she would've done well in equestrian, with the way she moved- her intensity was elegant, her movements as refined as a swimmer’s. Alex felt her chest tighten and her heart pounding as she watched, feeling almost greedy for more sight of Casey.

Other than her, she was displeased with essentially everything else. The people next to her were becoming progressively more drunk and more rowdy, cheering and applauding and calling out encouragement or jests to active players, who would yell incoherently back at them. The bleachers had grit stuck in the groves in the aluminum and she mused to herself she’d need to get the pants she was wearing cleaned.

The game simultaneously lasted fucking forever and was much faster than Alex thought it would be. Casey's team won, so Alex had to deal with Olivia huffing and chastising the DA’s team next to her and John giving her a very pointed look, competitive in the way of the observer, that she returned coldly.

Casey didn't come around until the detectives were almost ready to go. Stabler had returned, clenching his jaw after trying to convince a couple people to do some more practice runs with him, and Olivia bolted to her feet to sympathetically pat him on the shoulder. Alex, after a fraction of a second, rose too, and followed. “I don't get how she does that,” He kept grumbling, and Alex had to agree- but her opinion of that was different.

Alex watched out of the corner of her eye as Casey bounced around- literally bounced around, some of the younger interns were literally jumping with the adrenaline and Casey was mimicking it for their benefit- and they hugged each other tight around the shoulders, fluid motions and hearty laughs, until their noses and cheeks were tinted pink with breathlessness. Casey was here celebrating a win- a double win, now- but apparently, some other girl on the team had just lost a major suit according to someone Alex had overheard on the bleachers and the DA’s team was clearly playing on the enthusiasm and adrenaline to cheer her up. Alex watched as Casey grabbed the other lawyer in a tight hug, then pressed a kiss to her cheek, and her stomach fluttered and she looked away very quickly. She hoped no one noticed.

She looked back in time, though, to see Casey shaking the woman off her arm, and that settled the unease in her bones quickly. The other woman held her hand for as long as possible, looking at her with eyes akin to a lost puppy, but Casey only flashed her a bright smile and kept walking, letting her arm fall loosely over to her side as she walked away. She quickened her pace of exit when she saw Alex looking in her direction, jogging over.

“So, Alex?”

“So yourself. You were fantastic.” Alex chimed, and even though Casey was sweaty and was coated in dirt from the floor of the field she extended an arm to give her a half-hug and Casey took it, resting her head on Alex’s shoulder for a moment before letting go.

The others in the group shared similar observations, albeit half-heartedly, while Casey just grinned apologetically at Stabler who stood staring at her blankly. After a moment, the two exchanged a very informal fist bump, and tension eased from Elliot’s broad shoulders.

They chatter about the game for a while, recounting moments of note or teammates that were new or actions that were game-changing, until it was randomly noticed they were the last ones outside, the other legal system workers apparently having moved on to their own after-party that Alex noted Casey apparently had turned down and the other detectives had sullenly collected belongings and dipped.

“So, McMullen’s?” Stabler muttered, “I could use a beer after all this.”

“That's the one all the way near the precinct,” Munch argued, but Alex interjected with, “Let's do it.” That place was familiar- she had grown accustomed to it, and selfishly it was also very close to her apartment. John was left alone in his argument and they all nodded, separating towards cars with the knowledge they’d meet up shortly.

“You may have to drive,” Alex murmured, “I’m above the legal limit. That okay?”

“I get to drive your fancy-ass car? Hell yeah!” Casey cheered, “That's a reward on its own. Come with me, though, I have to grab my things.”

There was a small building off to the side, big enough to serve its only purpose as being a locker room. There were two doors and no windows, effectively a brick block that had no aesthetical component at all, and the lights flickered on as Casey went into one of the doors and hit the light. It kept flickering, though.

Alex stood in the doorway for a second, wrinkling her nose at the smell of very heavy spray deodorant and sweat, but Casey was talking to her, so it felt rude to let the door close separating the two, and after a second Alex stepped in behind her and tugged the metal door closed behind her.

“Did you mean it, though? That in the fourth inning I-”

“Yes, Casey,” Alex interrupted her, “you played very well. I don't say things I don't genuinely stand behind.”

It was rather endearing that Casey wanted her verbal approval, despite the fact Alex was completely aware Casey knew she had played well. She had been getting a stream of compliments and attention from her peers. It made Alex salivate that Casey had chosen to ditch the girl who had reminded her of a dog to talk to her instead. Maybe that was the alcohol talking. Maybe she should keep reminding herself that it was the alcohol talking.

“Hold on- look away, I’m going to change really quickly, and then we can get going.”

Alex felt her cheeks grow warm but she obediently turned on her heel to face the metal door, hearing the tug of a zipper as Casey stripped off her pants, then the rustling of fabric as her shirt came off, and Alex ground her teeth against each other trying not to imagine what was directly behind her. Casey sighed deeply, and Alex bit into her cheek.

She stayed like that, staring bolts of lightning into the door, until she felt Casey tap her shoulder, relinquishing her of the obligation. “Alright. Car keys, counselor?”

Alex pawed them over from her pocket wordlessly and Casey offered her a confused smile but did not press the issue, letting herself out of the locker room and heading towards the car.

She had changed into a white polo shirt, the top two buttons missing to dip and show her distinct collarbones, the cut of the sleeves emphasizing the subtle but firm muscles of her forearms. Beneath it, she carried dark jeans with a leather belt. She hadn't removed her hair from the bun, even though several strands of hair had fallen out near the front, and Alex tried to fixate on the shape of said bun on the back of her head while following her towards her own car.

Her internal monologue was failing to come up with reasons why she shouldn't be allowed to touch Casey's shoulders just a little bit. She could see the groves of muscle through the polo shirt- a little bit, right? Just a little bit?

Alex turned the music up in the car when Casey put it back on so she wouldn't need to make shaky conversation, and Casey seemed content enough with that. The duffel bag had been discarded in the back, Alex now in the passenger with Casey in the driver.

“You seem happy,” Casey commented finally during a lapse in the music- a long outro, or a long intro- and Alex just smiled slyly back at her. She was.

The bar was wonderfully familiar. Alex followed Casey to the booth in the back, the one their group always frequented, and the others were already there, looking up from menus no one really needed because they'd been there so many times everyone already had a signature.

Alex ended in between Olivia and Casey, the brunette on her left towards the wall, and Casey in the gap between her and the end of the couch. Casey struggled slightly- the booth wasn't large enough to accommodate a group of six people, but Alex was more than happy that it forced Casey to try to curve into her side. She didn't move over, didn't try to shove herself against Olivia to make more room for the redhead. With one leg crossed over the other and her shoulder firmly on Alex's, though, Casey made due.

They chirp orders to a bartender who wanders over, Alex graciously agreeing to carry this first round as she had earlier mentioned. Stabler ordered a beer more expensive than the type he normally drank, and Casey shot him a pointed look. He looked mildly apologetic, and Casey rolled her eyes.

John and Fin quickly began chattering about things below Alex’s pay grade, so she turned her attention towards Olivia and Elliot, who were discussing an upcoming event at Stabler’s children’s high school- a fundraiser, or some other such thing- and Casey listened eagerly. Alex stayed mostly quiet, unaware of how to participate in a conversation about public schools and children.

Besides, she had a much larger problem to attend to.

Casey's arm had snuck around her waist and was currently resting on the slight ridge of her hip.

Logically, she could reason that it was because she was intentionally making it more difficult for Casey to sit comfortably, the younger attorney still awkwardly very close to the edge of the faux-leather booth, but still. Her thumb was resting directly on the iliac crest, and if Alex paid close attention it was almost as if Casey was moving it, the rest of her fingers snaking just below it, grasping at the fabric of Alex’s pants. Maybe this was her punishment for enjoying forcing Casey to wriggle and balance on the very end of the seat.

She opened her mouth to join the conversation, but Casey, as though experimenting, ran her thumb in a line across the jut of her hip bone and Alex stiffened on impulse. As soon as Casey felt her spine tense like that, she hastily let go. Alex wished she could ask her to leave her hand there, though.

Why are you thinking like that, she internally chastised herself, Alex, you don't- you said you wouldn't try to do anything with… but she’s pursuing you, now, isn't she?

“Yes, Alex?” Olivia asked with a note of confusion, and she realized she had made to speak and then lost herself in thought. She didn't really remember what she was going to say, though. Her jaw was still open, but she just snapped it shut and shook her head quickly with a ‘never mind’.

Casey's hand did not return for the rest of the hour or so spent chatting at the bar, despite Alex’s struggling attempts at manifesting. She was uncomfortable, now, not because of Casey, but because of Casey's absence. She was pressed so close to her side but somehow it felt as though Alex had messed up, prematurely rejected her, and that something would shift in the dynamic now. The itch and ache behind her skin got progressively worse as she tried to mask her anxiety behind the mask, when really all she wanted to do was talk to Casey. The copper-headed woman’s conversations always included either Olivia or Stabler or Munch, though, and there was never a moment in which Alex could separate her off to start a banter or a hushed conversation between the two of them alone. So, mostly, Alex just sat there, watching her coworkers indulge in the moment while feeling isolated and cold. Her spine was not able to relax after Casey’s hand had left.

She started to feel sick with the rigidness of her body. She wanted to peel it off.

“You seem distracted,” Casey murmured lightly, her breath warm over the side of Alex’s face, her mouth precariously close as she leaned her face towards the side of Alex’s jaw, speaking into her ear. Alex hadn't even realized she had moved.

She steeled her eyes and turned to stare at Casey coldly, almost as if trying to scare her off, a habit she regretted the second she realized what she was doing- I won't let you get this close, I'm warning you- it said, but Casey simultaneously picked up on it, picked up on her regret, and simply grinned at her. She seemed pleased, even, that she was eliciting a response. Alex fumed inside of her mind at the amount of control the redhead had attained over her in the span of a night that wasn't even over yet.

“I’m fine.” Alex said in a hushed whisper, “Just- just drunk.”

Casey provided a low hum in the back of her throat, placing her jaw on Alex’s shoulder, blinking up at her through slightly narrowed eyes.

“Aren't you, Casey?”

“I assumed I’d be driving. I had a beer, but that was around an hour ago, now.”

“Oh.” Alex shifted, her face heating up slightly, “You're taking me home?”

“Do you not want me to do that?”

“I- but, how would you get home from mine? I don't- I can't really give you my car-”

“I can walk from yours,” Casey responded easily, to which Alex shook her head quickly.

“God, Casey, I’m not letting you walk home alone in the middle of the night, just-”

“Are you two planning on leaving soon?” Olivia interrupted loudly, who had drunk a bit more than both of them and seemed irritated in the way drunk people were. “I cannot wait to get away from this guy here,” the brunette sighed, jabbing a thumb at Stabler, who stared at her incredulously. Like Casey, he had also refrained from drinking so he could drop Olivia and John off.

“Olivia, I’m driving you home, and I stand by what I said.”

“But that doesn't even make sense!” She scolded him, “Why is the plural of mouse mice and the plural of goose geese and the plural form of moose still moose? Who the hell has ever said ‘Oh yes, what a lovely pack of moose there in the distance’-”

“Liv, I didn't say it didn't make sense, I just said it wasn't relevant-”

“Excuse you. This is very relevant to my day-to-day life.”

They blinked at each other for a long, slow moment, and Alex decided she did in fact need to get away from them. But, as she reached for her purse to drop what she owed, shame bloomed suddenly in her heart. Fuck.

She groaned quietly, her index extending automatically to rub the base of her glabella, tilting her head backward and squeezing her eyes shut with frustration and also an unwillingness to share what she definitely needed to.

Her discontent at her mistake triggered something else in her stomach, and she felt the familiar sensation of everything inside of her moving uncomfortably, skin aching and turning. She felt like she was about to be scolded by her father- or worse, her uncle- for lacking composure, for forgetting to keep track of every minor detail and interaction held.

It was important to be on top of everything constantly- no, it was necessary. She needed to. It was drilled into her as much as her skin was part of her anatomy, and regardless of how stressed it made her, she needed it compulsively.

She wanted to be someone else, and now she'd have to pay the price for it.

“Alex?” Casey’s voice sounded mildly concerned, and Alex tried her best to hide the embarrassment in her voice when she turned to the redhead and conspiratorially muttered, “I forgot my purse.”

She knew exactly where it was- well, unless it had been stolen since then, but she knew where she had left it. Putting it directly beneath her on the aluminum bleachers of the softball field had not been a wise choice given the principle of ‘out of sight, out of mind' and her lusting after Casey and Casey’s ridiculously attractive shoulders had not helped to remind her to grab it before they left.

Luckily she always kept three hundred dollar bills in her phone case in case of an emergency, so she popped it open and removed one to cover the table, waving off the others who tried to offer her change and similarly dismissing people offering to cover her drinks the next time the group joined at a bar.

“Well, we’ll just go back for it, then.” Casey replied smoothly, and Alex thanked the heavens Casey had not taken this as an opportunity to try to tease her, because Alex genuinely would've gotten mad if she had.

“But that's- that's half an hour each way,” Alex sighed, “and I’ve had too much to drive, but I don't want to ask you too-”

“Extra time with you? I can't complain. Come, now.” Casey grinned, swiping at her shoulder gently the way she had with Elliot earlier, and Alex couldn't help but crack a weak smile and follow her and she made her way out of the bar, waving goodbyes to the others.

“I meant it, though,” Casey starts once they're outside of the building, “you did seem distant back there. Is everything… alright?”

“I-” Alex started without meaning to, clamping her jaw shut and watching Casey unlock her car so they could both climb in, Casey placing the duffel in the back again as prior.

She watched the younger attorney raise an eyebrow inquisitively, which she responded to with a loose sigh.

“Nothing.” She said blankly, and listened as Casey echoed her sigh.

Alex could see the gears churning in Casey's head as they both clambered into Alex’s Cadillac, Casey’s eyes roving over the interior with awe once more. The copper-headed woman wasn't verbally pushing her to explain her issue but Alex wasn't stupid enough to think Casey would let it drop. She briefly worried that Casey thought it was her fault, but if she did, maybe she wouldn't provoke an explanation, and Alex was okay with that. She didn't feel like she wanted to verbalize this discomfort with Casey.

This car drive was again quiet, but not because Alex was in a state of drunken content, but rather because Alex was fighting personal demons and Casey was trying very hard to run through every possible list of what could've upset the older attorney.

“It was just one of my mulberry set, so it doesn't matter that much if it's actually missing or if someone stole it.” Alex said finally, to fill the void of silence.

Casey squinted at her, trying to figure out if that was sarcasm, but it didn't seem to be.

“I’m not going to grant that a response,” she said finally. “You rich kids are something else.”

Alex thinned her lips into a straight line but didn't respond. Casey was right, of course, they had very different upbringings. That's why Casey's skin suited her body, and Alex’s was constantly irritating her.

Neither attorney tried to fill the void of silence after that, not even with music, Alex staring blankly out of the side window while Casey focused on the dark road in front of her. Alex had moved on from her demons to anxiously smoothing her thumb in little patterns on her wrist, very uncomfortable without a distinct reason. This wasn't really about the purse, to put it plainly.

After what felt like an eternity, Casey pulled over, and Alex stumbled out of the car. The place was utterly devoid of people, although the lights were still on for some reason, and it wasn't hard to spot the dot of her bag in the distance even with her glasses. There was a light behind the bleachers that illuminated the spaces between plates of metal and she could make out a shape that blocked out the light exactly where she had been sitting. Without checking to see if Casey was following, she set out, wincing at the feeling of gravel and damp dirt beneath her shoes.

She had picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder before she registered Casey’s presence again, behind her, and the attorney's voice was soft as she spoke.

“Put it back down, Alex, play ball with me.”

Alex froze.

“What?”

“Play ball with me,” Casey echoed, and when Alex turned around the copperhead was simply tossing the softball up and down in one hand without even looking at it. Casey’s eyes were instead fixated intently on her.

Alex shrugged her purse strap tighter to her side as if it were a life raft of sorts. “I don't play sports, Casey-” she tried, but Casey just shook her head slightly, the bun that had slowly been coming out over the duration of the evening bouncing along with the rotation of her head.

“Just catch it,” Casey soothed, “and if you really hate it we’ll go back to the car. Put your purse down- come off the bleachers, come over here.”

It was hard to disobey when Casey sounded so direct, so after a moment of hesitation and a minor internal thrashing Alex set her bag down once more and stepped off the bleachers, onto the grass where Casey was. She knew her face must be exerting a twisted, concerned expression, but although Casey’s eyes were soft they were also immensely firm. Determined.

“I don't know… how to catch a ball.” Alex said lamely, holding her hands out stiffly in front of her. She was rewarded for her confession with Casey’s chuckle.

“Don't think about it,” Casey said, “just focus on me. You’ll catch it.”

The redhead paused her casual toss-catch rhythm, cupping the ball in her palm and letting her arm hang down by her side. She smiled reassuringly at Alex, who hadn't felt nervous like this since grade school.

“You've been doing fine focusing on me tonight,” Casey teased, after Alex hadn't answered, and Alex flushed, “so- should be doable. Ready?”

Alex wanted to curl into a ball and hide, honestly, so no, she wasn't ready. Straight spine, stiff shoulders, her head feeling like it was propped up on a pedestal rather than a neck. Her hands still were held loosely in front of her, as though someone was passing her a wine glass to nurse rather than a ball to catch, and her feet were right beside each other in the ‘natural’ resting position for her- which had been very unnaturally taught, and then forced, until young Alex did not automatically stand any other way. Casey’s brow quirked as if this was amusing to her.

The blonde’s brow furrowed in anxious concentration, and she took a quick breath, trying to focus on Casey as the redhead had so advised. And despite her teasing tone, she had been right, it was easy for Alex to focus on her.

It was really dark out, now, so Alex could only see the parts of Casey that were illuminated by the overhead beam, but it was angled in a way that she could still see most of her. Casey’s eyes were teasing but attentive, and her posture was entirely relaxed. She didn't look like she had when she was actually playing, which relieved Alex immensely.

When Casey had been playing, she had seemed athletic and agile, with muscles that rippled under her skin the way that a leopard’s might as it pounced. Now, more similarly to her courtroom appearances, her arms had relaxed back into how they normally appeared- although they always looked wonderfully lean- only slightly more built than the average woman’s. Her fingers were lithe as they wrapped around the softball she held, a degree of comfort interacting with the object that read easily as years of experience. Alex tried not to note the details of how the white polo shirt clung and accentuated her bust, or the curve of her waist. Casey’s stance- leaning slightly, more weight on one leg than the other casually, did not help Alex scrape her eyes off of her figure. She felt herself relax, slightly, drawn in by the details of the other woman’s form. She supposed it was easy to stop paying so much attention to herself and everything that was right or wrong in herself and her posture when she was given permission to study someone as- well, frankly, hot- as Casey.

“I’m ready,” Alex said after a long pause, running her tongue over her dry bottom lip to ease the nerves. She wasn't sure what prompted her to say it.

Casey eased her arm in a low arc, passing it once, then twice, the arc getting larger each time, before curling her fingers around the ball as she let it go in a firm underhand toss. Trained as she was, it flew in a bow formation, slow and controlled as it made its way directly towards Alex, who caught it instinctively, trapping it between her two palms.

She looked up at Casey with eyes as concerned as if she was carrying a grenade, and Casey laughed, her hands on her knees, evidently pleased.

“Good! Go on, throw it back to me.”

Alex’s nose scrunched up with focus as she tried to recreate the same motion Casey had done, her limbs feeling weird and disjointed, stiff and loose, unlike the fluid motion Casey had produced. But regardless, she threw it.

Casey catching it was entirely due to the redhead’s own ability, because unlike when Alex had caught it due to Casey’s precise aim, Alex had no clue how to direct the ball properly, and it fell short by about a meter, which was anticipated the second the ball left her hand by Casey who scrambled to get it, achieving the fear with only a mild degree of difficulty.

“You did it!” She cheered, bouncing with excitement the way she had when she had won the softball match hours prior, and Alex couldn't help but acknowledge her enthusiasm as very infectious. A small, genuine yet shy smile played on her lips and Casey darted backward again, taking her stance to throw it once more, which Alex did not move to protest.

Unlike last time, when Alex had caught it very close to her chest, the blonde with some degree of determination reached her arms slightly higher, managing to catch it while it was still in the air above her. She still used both hands, but it was a stark degree of progress.

Alex's face split open into a grin of genuine emotion, now, a smile that awkwardly expressed the strange pride she felt at managing the relatively very simple task, and without hesitation she threw it back to Casey, using enough force this time- correcting her precious mistake- so the ball was easily once again resting in Casey's hand.

“Look at you go,” Casey beamed, the corners of her eyes angling with the intensity of the smile she flashed Alex with, “now, this one’s harder, okay?”

This time, Casey threw it overhead, albeit still much gentler than she normally would. Her previous throws were meant to land directly at Alex’s stand, but this one aimed for a foot or so behind her. The blonde, however, had seemingly gained enough understanding of the ball’s arch to realize, hastily taking a few steps backward to once again encase it.

Alex mused to herself that she felt as though she was getting the hang of this, so she returned the ball once more, still using underhand, watching as Casey bounced backward twice to give them more distance. She threw it, and Alex realized it was flying too far to the side, and she scrambled in that direction, bending down strangely but managing to catch the softball before it hit the floor.

She looked up with a very sheepish expression, but was rewarded with the sight of Casey smiling as if it were Christmas morning, and she relaxed, standing up. Casey had apparently taken a few more long strides backwards, away from her.

“I can't throw that far, come closer.” She called, but Casey shook her head.

“You can make it to me- try out throwing overhead.” Casey urged, “And if it falls short, I’ll run and get it anyway.”

Alex stood, awkwardly still for a long second, staring at Casey, who just kept her bright smile. After a second, she glanced at the ball in her hand, and, mimicking Casey’s movement once again, extended one arm behind her slightly, rotating her torso, and then shot it forward, leaning forward into her swing.

Although she stumbled, looking up prematurely to see if the throw would arc the way she had wanted it to, it did fly almost all the way to the other attorney, who easily lifted a singular hand to catch it in her palm.

This time, Casey did not wait for Alex to recompose before swinging- and she did it differently, this time, lifting a leg to fire the ball at her the way she had during softball except with a bit less force. Enough force, though, that although Alex again scrambled for it, the softball flew too far to the side and the blonde woman ended up on her knees in the shortly clipped grass. She turned her head to stare indignantly at her companion, who just poked the tip of her tongue out of her mouth nonchalantly and motioned for Alex to go fetch.

She would never do anything so.. unpretentious. However, with Casey patiently grinning at her, Alex sighed, standing, brushing off her knees quickly, and then briskly pacing to retrieve the ball, which had landed only a few meters to her side.

“Are we done, counselor?” Novak called from her place a ways away, and Alex raised her eyebrow at the other woman incredulously.

“After that?” She scoffed, and threw the ball again more forcefully, purposely not really aiming at Casey who thus had to hasten towards it, reading its path but still needing to scurry multiple meters, catching it but only just barely. Alex refused to note how elegant the motion was, despite how awkward it really should've seemed.

Alex did not have the time to further study Casey’s elegance because the redhead was already firing back at her, one leg raised high at the knee as prior, and that only really made her understand how attractive Casey’s legs were- her undivided attention to the attorney’s arms had made her miss out on something else equally appealing.

This time Casey was gracious enough to aim at her once more, and Alex caught it, each grab easier than the previous.

They repeated this exchange, Casey’s throws were much smoother and intentional, except she kept occasionally throwing slightly higher or lower or to either side to force Alex to move herself. Alex occasionally missed her grab or not being able to close the distance in time, which only fueled her play intensity when she returned the ball. Alex’s throws were mostly loose, but for the most part, they went far enough, and Casey was more than happy to scramble for them, ending up on her knees multiple times but never failing to catch it firmly.

Casey had started laughing, at some point, delighted to be playing no matter how bad her play partner was, and Alex hadn't even realized when her grin became permanent and her exhales started to sound like breathless giggles.

Eventually, Alex’s breathing started coming faster, and there was a thrum in her heart unrelated to Casey, and said woman realized the blonde was starting to get tired. She stopped the back and forth once the ball returned to her palm, choosing instead to jog over.

“Let's try something- hold this.” She murmured, tossing the ball into the air, which Alex now easily and casually managed to snag.

She reached over and adjusted Alex’s position, smooth hands gliding to shape the rotation of the older woman’s shoulders, lightly pressing to move her hips, gliding across her arms to rearrange the assortment of limbs.

She then turned to stand beside her, mirroring the posture she had just moved Alex into, looking at her with a sly grin. “Now, when you throw, I want you to curve like this-” she demonstrated, her motions causing the fabric to ruffle, her shirt rising up slightly at the hem to tease Alex with a thin strip of the woman’s abdomen, “and raise your leg like this, and then,-” she made a hushed whooshing sound, a cartoonist version of a ball being thrown.

Alex nodded obediently, starting to prepare herself before Casey shook her head quickly. “Give me a headstart- I go on two, and you go on zero. Okay?”

The blonde was now mildly confused on what Casey was attempting, but regardless nodded, frozen in the position Casey had sculpted.

“Five, four, three..” Casey counted down, slowly creeping her body down into a low lunge, “two-!” she bolted forward, and then Alex understood, mentally counting down the last two numbers before flinging the ball as hard as she physically was able to.

She was then content to straighten out, catching her breath, while watching Casey sprint after it. Her strides were so long and so light Alex wasn't sure she was even really touching the ground. With the movement, her ever-loosening bun snapped open, and auburn hair flowed as if cascading behind her, and Alex's breath caught still in her lungs.

Even though the ball did manage to outfly her sprint, she was damn near close when she dove for it, sliding on one knee to retrieve it, skidding to a halt a little ways away from where she had initially landed. She jumped up, shook herself off, and then jogged back, a breathless grin on her face.

“I thought I had it,” she panted, “I’ve always wanted to try doing that.”

The copper-headed woman proceeded to flop down on the grass, rolling so she was lying on her back looking up at Alex who was still breathing with a little more labor than she’d like to admit from their previous shenanigans. After a second, Alex carefully sat down next to her, near but not close enough to be on her loose hair by accident.

“You were very close,” Alex agreed, eyes never leaving Casey’s enthusiastic ones. “I didn't know people could be that fast.”

After a brief second, she reached out and rested her hand on the front of Casey’s shoulder, who blinked up at her. It was a reassurance that Alex’s earlier silence wasn't her fault, Alex tried to convey, that Casey had done nothing wrong and everything right.

Casey sat up to look at Alex more directly, but she raised a hand to keep Alex’s fingers resting on the flat of her chest and an inch below her collarbone. Her face was close to Alex’s leaning forward so boldly Alex almost thought to lean back.

“You look good like this,” She cooed so lightly it was almost smug, almost victorious, “you’re normally so rigid, so overtly mannered.”

It was then that Alex realized she had not registered anything of herself outside of trying to figure out how to position her arm to throw better for the past while.

Nothing had seemed to exist outside of Casey laughing gleefully across the field, bouncing from one foot to the other while waiting for her to launch her softball back to her- as much as Alex could launch it- and as soon as the ball had left her hands, the only thing she thought of was the sight of Casey running to snatch it midair, her hand itching to feel the leather again so she could try again, see if she could throw it farther, and more forcefully.

See if she could make Casey laugh harder, the giddy sound almost echoing in the night, filling the void and almost creepy vacant softball field with audio so genuine it made Alex’s heart flutter. See if she could elicit another called praise, or another witty comment from the woman she had been eyeing so intently.

Her limbs and joints felt loose but connected, blood racing through her veins happily as if finally allowed to dart around her body, resurfacing energy and releasing dopamine in a way she hadn't felt in what must now be years. Her bones felt as light as a bird’s, and her skin was so enthusiastic at the play it nestled onto her body like a puzzle piece that finally clicked into place, and even now that she was finished, it felt like her own. For once, Alex had earned the right to feel comfortable in her own skin.

She hadn't cared to ponder what she must look like, in a blouse layered by a sweater in a field with her glasses, tripping over herself to try to play ball with a woman who could pass as a semi-professional athlete. Her chest must be heaving in an effort to catch her breath, her lungs entirely unused to anything more strenuous than stairs, her legs long but her ability to use them only equivalent to a fawn’s. But whenever she had caught Casey's playful eyes, they looked at her like her stumbling self was a million bucks, and that was enough for her.

This was enough for her. Her goal for the night had been realized in full.

“What are you thinking about, counselor?” Casey breathed, and Alex realized she had leaned even closer, dark green eyes searching her’s as if she could read words in Alex’s pupils.

Alex almost thought she was assuming something until she caught the microaction of Casey’s eyes darting to her lips, before glancing up a fraction of a second later with a hint of shyness in her expression- something Alex had never seen, but certainly wasn't complaining about- and Alex was more than happy to indulge her, seeing as how Casey had spent the last hour trying to ensure Alex could ease some of the rigidness from her soul.

She left the hand Casey had touched on her collar, but brought her other hand up to cradle the back of the redhead’s skull, closing the small gap between their faces, and pressing her lips gently against the other woman’s.

Casey let out a small, whimpered sound, and Alex tried to let her go, only to be tugged back with ferocious intensity.

The younger woman pushed her into a more structured sitting position, one leg swinging over Alex’s lap to straddle her hips, Casey’s hands cupping the sides of Alex’s neck, one thumb on her jaw. Her lips were so soft, but so exhilarating, Alex felt as though she could melt, Casey pulling them apart every couple seconds just to come back closer a second later. Due to the nature of their position, Alex had to crane her neck to angle her face up at her, the column of her throat exposed, and Casey was clearly thrilled, her hands exploring her jaw and below it, soft touches that felt rather greedy.

Alex was finally able to take what she had been fantasizing about- when Casey pulled them apart for a second, panting for breath much harsher than she ever had while exercising, she untangled her hand from the auburn locks she had grasped and ran her hand instead down Casey’s shoulder blade, reveling in the feeling of the soft muscles and the small noise Casey made when she did so, catching the woman’s mouth once more to swallow the sounds she made as her hands both moved to smooth over Casey’s biceps, her triceps, her forearms, and then back up again.

“Alex,” Casey breathed into her mouth, before Alex shifted, pressing her back into her lips, to which Casey had no protest. The copper-headed woman’s hands stopped so much exploring as they did holding for support, and Alex mused to herself- the first coherent thought to break through the haze of bliss she had found herself in- that Casey must have thought she’d be the one to have the other squirming. The thought amused her, and only compelled her to continue feeling her up.

“Alex-,” Casey was whining now, Alex’s hand slipping behind her lithe figure to her shoulder blades again, running her fingers down savoringly before turning her attention to her ribs, using her thumbs to brush against her breast only slightly before moving down her to waist, utterly enraptured.

Alex bucked her hips, startling Casey as the blonde pushed her off entirely, and then kept pushing, rolling them over until Casey was flat on her back, and Alex was over her, her knees buried hard into the dirt to keep her above in a way that would've made her quite upset at the grass stains they’d be sporting later had she not been so enchanted by the feeling of Casey moving, Casey’s muscles bunching and twitching as she moved against her.

“Oh,” Casey gasped, and Alex paused, raising her hands to either side of Casey’s head so she could smile down at the woman whose cheeks were so red they almost matched her hair.

Her blonde hair fell to frame Casey’s face, who breathlessly tried to push it out of the way so she could see the triumphant gleam in Alex’s eyes, and then Casey propped herself up on her elbows to land a soft kiss on Alex’s grinning lips.

The normally overtly composed woman broke into a giddy laugh, sitting up, before rolling to the side so she could lay next to Casey in the dark grass. Casey snorted lightly at the sound of it, rolling to the side so she could study Alex’s gorgeous side profile as the woman looked up to the dark night sky above them.

“I guess this solves the issue of us going to separate apartments with only one car,” Casey breathed, and that just made Alex laugh harder, lulling her head to the side to meet Casey’s eyes and see her quiet smile.

All of Alex’s strings had been cut. Right now, she felt anything but stiff. Anything but rigid.

#alex cabot #calex #casey novak #casey novak x alex cabot #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #svu #lesbian #olivia benson #elliot stabler #alexandra cabot

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heartbreakgrill · 3 days ago

Text

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 9; "Never seen that color blue."

“No, yeah, of course! Noo…no! Thank you! I seriously appreciate all of your help and understanding during this! I hope you have a wonderful day! Yeah, aw, thanks! You, too! Yeah- okay- bye!”

My faux smile dropped as soon as my hand did, phone falling to a silenced settle on my left thigh. I breathed a shallow breath of somehow anxious relief, so ironic that it made me want to scream.

Max reached across the bed and rubbed my knee comfortingly, “You okay?”

I wanted to snort, yell, kick my feet, and laugh hysterically. Throw a temper tantrum, wish on a star, kiss a fucking frog. Fall on my knees, beg the skies. Change fate's cruel course of time.

But my expression was blank as I shrugged, “What can ya do?”

The corner of his lips lifted into the saddest smile. His thumb brushed my skin, “It’s gonna be alright. Once you settle back in, things will start to feel normal. You can start…moving on. And, hey, I’m visiting in just a month. You have that to look forward to. School starting, your new role at the clinic. So many good things, Daz.”

He was right- I had so much to be excited about. I really should’ve felt excited, grateful. A better woman would have. A better woman would have seen the blessings all around her and felt so full of life and love. God, she would’ve respected herself enough to not be in this situation in the first place.

Yet I couldn’t help but feel resentful, knowing that I would trade all of it for-

for him.

For Oliver.

I would give up everything for just another moment, hanging onto his lips like a vine. Just a second of growth, even if being ripped away meant digging up the roots and my leaves dying.

I just gave Max that fake smile, knowing full well he was aware that it meant nothing. “You’re right. It’ll be good for me to be home.”

He squeezed my knee before removing his hand. “You wanna finish packing? Or maybe take a break? Get some food?”

I glanced around at the mess of clothes across Sam and I’s hotel room. My bags lay open, a few piles of my stuff already stuffed inside. But there was more than half to be done. So much to be done before I went…before I went home tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Less than 12 hours from now. I’d be heading back to reality. Closing the doors on Europe, on everything and everybody I’d be leaving here.

There was just one week left on the European leg of the two. Tomorrow morning, everyone will be leaving for Germany. I’d go to the airport with them, like normal, but depart at a separate gate, at the same exact time. Those who needed to know, well, I was going to tell them. And those who needed to know the reason why would, too. Sam was going to think I was going home because of an offer for a higher position from the clinic I worked at. But this was only partially true. Training for that wouldn’t even start for another 3 weeks. School wasn’t for a month.

I was leaving for me- for clarity, fresh air. Oliver was right- London was foggy, full of pollution and shitty, selfish men.

I needed to get away, out. Back to routine and home. Back to what I knew- what wouldn’t hurt me.

I looked back to Max, “I'm gonna finish packing. Get it over with. Before Sam gets back. I think it might hurt his feelings to walk in and see this…mess.”

Mess might have held a double meaning. I had looked better, for sure. Max understood, I think, for he knocked his shoulder against mine, then stood from the bed. “We got it, Daz.”

I stood up quickly, knowing the only way to get started was to just start. Stand. Move. (I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.)

It took us another hour or so to finish stuffing my belongings into their bags. I had bought maybe one too many souvenirs, so we struggled to find a place for everything. When we were done, I slew myself across the end of the bed, breathing heavily, sweating a little bit.

Max groaned from the floor, “Why do you own so many things?!”

“Dude, I don’t even know. It’s gonna take me 12 years to unpack!”

He chortled, half-heartedly, patting his stomach as an afterthought. “I am soooo hungry. What do you wanna eat?”

I sat up as he did so, shrugging a bit, “You pick. I don’t have the energy for all that.”

“I’m good with the hotel restaurant if you are.”

“Fuck it.”

So, we sludged our way downstairs. I hadn’t been leaving my room much, worried you-know-who would cross my path and shake things up again. Though, I doubted he was looking for me. He hadn’t so much as texted me since last week. Oliver was probably sulking, convincing himself that he was the victim in this whole thing. The thought made my blood rush a little bit. I clenched my fist as the elevator doors closed, trying to focus on breathing and not screaming.

The past three had been probably one of the worst of my life. I was so…so sad. So angry. Confused. Nothing made sense, yet all of my fears had come true. It was like I knew all the answers, but my bones felt so put off by how they manifested themselves. Like, what do you mean the cold, dark, distant boy turned out to be a cheating, manipulative liar? Right on the money.

My rational mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that it still felt so…disappointing? Wrong? Fucked the fucking fuck up.

The doors slid open. I followed, quietly, behind Max as we headed for the inlet to the left of the front counter. This was a usual part of my new found routine, grabbing food with Max. Albeit, sneakily, with numerous texts between the two of us (me, badgering him) ensuring nobody else (Oliver) was down here. In avoiding him, I had been avoiding everybody else, too.

I could already see their knowing looks. Sam could read me like a book. Ronnie was way psychic and usually felt the vibe of a situation long before it occurred. Adam, obviously, already was aware. And I'm sure he would have relayed the information to Cyrus.

I was exuding this aura of heartbroken, school-girl-fantasy-crushed, sad-puppy shit. I felt tired, and I’m sure my eyes looked it, too. Any passerby probably could have read my emotions pretty well. No matter, I’d be out of here soon. Back home. I could heal, rest, relax, find somebody else to fuck and get the fuck over this dumb ass white boy.

My dumb ass white boy. I’d tried not to think about him, so deeply sunk into this angry feeling that I couldn’t even fathom the idea of missing what had hurt me. Alas, every once and a while (between every other curse I thought of) something would flash through my mind. A distant memory, an image of his deep-ocean blue eyes shining with flames from the rooftop firepit, triggered by a breath, a catch of the wind, a sink in my heart. I’d feel a little moth flicker in my chest. An air bubble, taut in my stomach, would have me hiccuping from gushing tears in an instant.

I think it was the deep blue suede of the hotel bar’s stools that did it this time. I brushed a hand, slowly, watching the color shift from the movement of the fabric. The lighter color reminded me of a time he felt the way I did right now. Sadness. Maybe it hadn’t meant as much to him, maybe his depravity was not comforted by me. But that moment, when I held him, when he nuzzled his head into my neck and began crying-

“Wanna drink?” Max rested a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention back from where I was trudging through fleeting, erasing moments.

I ceased my body from flinching, willed away the wetness in my eyes, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s get a drink.”

Which was a mistake.

One drink turned to appetizers turned to three drinks turned to main courses, 5 drinks, 2 shots, and dessert. Before I knew it, Max and I were cackling over some typo on some Twitter post. I gripped his shirt sleeve and hoped I wouldn’t slide off the bar stool. For the first time in a week, I wasn’t concerning myself with the logistics of sticking around in this public area as long as we had been. I wasn’t even thinking of Oliver. In fact, Max and I were discussing some of our favorite shitposts about American politics. My mind was far away from dumb Brits and idiotic Europeans.

Of course, the world had a very funny way of spitting in my face.

Adam, Cyrus, and- low and behold- Oliver came strolling into the bar right when Max and I finished ordering another drink. I felt a little sick, watching as they neared us. Oliver wasn’t paying attention. He never did. His head, sunken into his hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets. He moved like the Grim Reaper. I wondered if he had come to take my soul away.

Adam and Cyrus seemed…on edge. They noticed Max and I only after they’d made it halfway across the room. Adam hesitated on his next step, catching my eye, worriedly glancing between me and Oliver.

Max was aware, at this point. He cut himself off mid sentence, swiping a hand across his lips. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “Daisy…let’s go.”

His fingers brushed through mine in a desperate grasp to pull me along with him, towards the door. I was drunk. I was not thinking. I was hysterical, sad, heartbroken, angry. I tugged my hand away, instead flipping into the air to wave and cheerfully catch the group’s full attention.

“Cy! Adam!” I couldn’t quite catch his name on my tongue. I thought I might puke. “Hey, girl!”

Oliver looked up at the sound of voice. He stopped, but three feet from our little round table. The light, dim from the overhead lamps and LED strips behind the counter, caught the round pupils in his eyes. I watched as he blinked once, twice. Blue.

“Oliver!” There it was.

He met my eye. The corners of his lids wilted, like the petals of a flower, aged, saddened. Drops of rain dropping them in weight. Max looked between the two of us. Cyrus busied himself with buying a drink. Adam slouched in the awkward, pregnant air. Oliver ignored me, moved around our group to sit as far away as possible.

I clenched my jaw. Rage. Utter, pure anger. How dare he deny me even now? The fact that he had not come to my door in the past few days, on his knees, begging for my forgiveness- I was seething. And, now, he goes back to his old tricks. Pretending like I don’t exist.

I turned to Max, who was bracing for impact. His hands were wary, held up near me as if to catch my fall. I shrugged, smiled cheekily, wrinkled my nose. I bumped Adam’s shoulder with mine and declared, “Shots on me?”

He continued his smug slump in the bar stool for the next hour. Adam, Cyrus, Max, and I hung like the old pals we were, cracking jokes, swapping stories like we were surrounding a campfire. I glanced at Oliver every once in a while, hoping to accidentally make eye contact like we used to. He stared down at his phone or his glass. I was surprised the device worked considering he’d fucking forgotten my contact existed or something.

Ugh.

What a fucking ass hole.

Adam asked me a question, pulling my attention back in. “Are you excited for Germany?”

Oh. I’d almost forgotten all about this little plot. I knew that if I spoke loud enough, Oliver would hear. He’d react. I could almost hear it, the little hitch in his breath. The tickle in his throat. The flit of his tongue across his lips, the patter of his holey heart.

I felt my own chest jitter with the excitement, the want of a reaction I needed from him. The shock. The idea that I would be an ocean away from him. No longer at an arm’s length.

I turned towards Adam and rested my chin on my fist. I frowned, almost playfully, “Ugh, I hate having to tell you guys like this!”

Cyrus slowly lowered his glass from his lips, having been mid-drink, “What’s up?”

“I’m going home,” my brows furrowed in a naive look. Adam and Cyrus’ chins dropped a sliver. I pouted my lip, “Stop! I know! I’m so sad!”

I wanted to wait until the conversation was over to look down the bar, to see if even a fragment of what I was saying had affected him. But, I didn’t need to wait. Oliver had flinched. He literally flinched.

“Yeah, me, too,” Adam touched my hand. “Why so soon? I thought you were staying through August?”

“I was planning on it, but…they offered me a better position at the clinic I work at. I have to get home to start training,” I continued, a satisfied smirk teasing my mouth.

Cyrus lifted his glass, “Well, there’s nothing to be sad about, then! To your new job.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” the smirk slipped into a genuine smile. I really would miss these guys, but my drunken, stupid mind wasn’t thinking about that. I wanted more from Oliver. I wanted a white flag or a look or a…fuck, I wanted him.

I pushed, “I’ll really miss you guys. Max, with your corny-ass pick-up lines, Adam’s mom vibes, Cy’s ability to knock back more drinks than fucking- I don’t know, Spider-man, and not get drunk? Shit’s insane.”

I drank in the laughter for a moment, eyes lingering down the bar to Oliver. Then, I added a name to my list and narrowed my gaze, “Oliver,” he wouldn’t look. “With your need to ignore me in every room we’re in. I’ll really miss your cold fucking shoulder.”

Any laughter that may have hung onto our past moment faded. I heard Max take a sharp breath in through his teeth. Adam pressed his lips together. Cyrus looked over his shoulder at their friend. I didn’t know if he really knew, but he had to understand just a little bit. The vibes were always there. We thought we were sneaky, but we were so sickly up each other’s asses. We’d even run into Cyrus and Adam in the hallway that one time. I guess we were all really good at being hopefully fucking stupid and blind.

I leaned on my palm and stared that man down. I watched as he kept his chin, pointed ahead, like he was playing brave in the situation. His Adam's apple bobbed. Oliver clutched his glass, swung it back, slugged the liquid down. Slammed it back on the counter. Then, he stood up, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and threw a wad of bills onto the bar. He adjusted his hoodie and left.

I was dizzy. I stuttered back a step. Max touched my wrist, murmuring something or the other about heading back upstairs. Telling me I was too drunk.

I felt slow, felt dizzy, felt scared, felt angry, felt sad. I felt so sad. I felt so angry and so sad and…

And, my eyebrows furrowed in anger, the shock erasing itself from my frame. I took a deep, drunken breath and followed his trail. Fast. Legs pumping, arms swinging at my sides.

He was at the elevator, looking down at his shoes. I couldn’t get his name out. I think if I did the tears were going to fall out, The sobs were going to ricochet through my whole body and knock me over and kill me and I’d die and I’d never get to see that dumb asses blue eyes any more. Ever again. I wanted to see his blue eyes again. I wanted him to look at me and see me for what he sees me as. I wanted him to touch my hip and wring my neck and tell me I was the only one he wanted. I’d take it. One more time, then he could go back to her. I just wanted a goodbye.

He was stepping into the elevator. The doors were closing. I jammed a hand between and he flinched, again.

I stepped in just as the doors began to shut again. His eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them. He was frozen. Frowning. He looked…sad.

I almost reached a hand out, almost caressed his cheek and pulled him into me. But, I didn’t. Instead, I said (yelled?), “What the fuck is your problem?”

He stammered, “Wha-what?”

I struggled to repeat myself. I needed to cry. It was going to open. But, for another moment, the anger took over, “You fucking heard me. What is your problem, Oliver? What the fuck did I do to deserve this kind of shit? I don’t wanna hear more sad excuses about your fucking mental health and your-your fucking anxiety. God, I- I fucking…I don’t even k- you fucking ignored me back there! I looked right at you and I said your name and I smiled at you and…I’ve been so nice to you. I’ve been nice to you all summer and you treat me like a piece of fucking shit. God, I’ve…I’ve told you so much. I told you about my mom and…and you laid there and you told me all this bullshit about how much you liked me! And then you…youre a fucking-”

I cut myself off, out of breath. I was sweating a little bit. I think I had spit a few times. And I paced the elevator so much that I was flush against the wall. I leaned my shoulders back against the cool metal, wringing my hands, tugging at my hair.

He didn’t say anything. I breathed, hard, I thought, long. I kept thinking, and I kept getting angrier. I turned back to him, rearing up again. I had more to say, I just, I just needed to get some more concise- more thoughtful thoughts, right, exactly. Yes. I can…

“And who the fuck is F-”

“Daisy.”

There it was, my name. It was my name, soft and angelic, and holy. And a moment on his lips that he carved out of time and held a space for, for me to hear.

I stopped. I felt nothing for a moment. I looked at him and he was already waiting to see my eyes. My bottom lip wobbled.

“You’re obviously upset. And, drunk. Why don’t we talk about this in the morning? We can both get some rest.” He was always so good at two very distinct things: pushing stuff (people) aside and speaking to me in a way that felt like a cloud was wrapping itself around me. Like the cloud wanted me to lay in its arm and would coo me to sleep. Like I was safe and loved and-

Loved.

He made me feel loved.

I straightened up a bit at the thought. I pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Who the fuck is Fiona? What the fuck was that all about? Oliver, I’m not going to stand here and beg for you to love me. Or beg for you to come back to me. I just want a goddamn apology. For wasting my time, for playing with my fucking heart. For stringing me along. You knew-”

The tears came. Perfect timing. “You fucking know that I love you. You have known for a very long time. And you are an idiotic fool if you still don’t believe it. But I am not going to play this game with you. I told you that already and now I seriously mean it. I broke my back this summer to make sure that I was who you wanted me to be. So I was cool and chill and could take as much space as you wanted me to. I went with everything you asked of me, I was there when you needed a warm body. I comforted you and…and tried to fucking fix you like I knew you wanted me to. But, I am done. I am done with this. I am done-”

My voice cracked. I swiped an angry, shaking hand across my face. Vision blurred. “I am done with you. This is ridiculous. I don’t know if you meant to, but you have manipulated this situation so that you have been the one benefiting. I’m tired of letting you think you’re some broken, sad puppy dog on the side of the road that needs to be taken care of. Grow the fuck up. And, now I find out that there’s some other woman? That I- I’m the other woman, maybe? That you’re cheating on her with me? That I’m your fucking slut? Side hoe?”

I had paced again, this time, towards him. He was taller than me, but my anger was making me taller. He was almost…cowering. I pointed my finger again, nearly chest to chest with him.

“Fuck you, Oliver. Fuck you and fuck London and fuck your stupid fucking music.”

The doors opened, on our floor. I walked out, but turned to face him before he was really gone from me. I wanted to see his eyes one last time.

He was crying. I popped an arm into the door again, buying myself more time to kick him while he was down. I thought this would bring me closure. I thought I’d feel better if he knew, truly knew, the entirety. Every thought. Every hurt I felt.

“You asked me at the beginning of the summer what I was searching for. I thought that it was you. And I thought that I had found you.”

I shook my head sadly. The doorbell on the elevator rang. I stepped back, “I was right. There is no deeper meaning. Goodbye, Oliver.”

I stood there for a second, as though I could still see his blue eyes, boring through the metal doors.

Then, I sludged my way to my hotel room. I opened the door, shoulders slumped, body aching. I knew my makeup was smeared all over my face. My hair was wrecked. I couldn’t stop sniffling or whimpering. I walked into the room.

Sam sat up in his bed. Ronnie was beside him. I barely made it two more steps before Sam caught me in his arms.

–

The sky was gray. The weather in Europe usually was, especially up here on this side of the continent. I wasn’t surprised when, on our drive to the airport, it started spitting rain. I shivered underneath the cover of my hoodie, yet walked slowly through the entrance.

I remember when I had first dropped down in London, wide-eyed, hopeful. I think it had been raining then, too. But, I hadn’t cared. Come to think of it, it was raining pretty much everyday we had been in London.

Oliver was right about a couple things.

Back then, just three months ago, I hadn’t cared about the sun’s shadow curving from behind the clouds, nor did I mind that it was usually quite chilly outside. Now, I felt anger, annoyance at the weather, at the people, at the world.

At him. The stupid weight of my suitcase. The drag in my step. The wetness of my clothes and the chill of the wind.

I felt older, in the worst way. I was a different age, considering my birthday had passed while I’d been here. But, I felt old in a way that was draining. I felt like I had wasted so much time, energy, and all I had left were weary bones and sadness. Just how much I had left, I didn’t know. But I did know that as soon as I got back home, I would be rotting in my bed for a day or two.

Sam, Max, and Ronnie came to the airport early with me. My flight time had been pulled forward by an hour, so I needed to get here sooner than I thought. I wasn’t complaining, though. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of the hotel. Out of here. Out of London.

I hurried the process of packing my last few things. Stuffed my breakfast down my throat. Impatiently waited in the taxi, knee bouncing, as Sam and Max loaded the trunk with all of our things. Ronnie slid in beside me and became the first reason that I cried that day.

She reared a look over her shoulder, out the back window, to check on Max and Sam. Then, with an awkward sigh, she turned her knees towards me, “Peaches?”

I glanced up from my lap and the bounce of my knee slowed, “Yeah?”

Upon noticing the somber gaze in her eyes, my brows furrowed. “What’s up?” I added, fully presenting her my full attention.

Ronnie rubbed her nose in a seemingly nervous manner, “I just wanted to say…um, ew. Sorry.”

I softly giggled at her disgust with whatever sentence she was trying to form. “What is it?”

She finally met my eye in a fervently forward manner, “I usually have fun on tour. But this summer was…it was extra special. Getting to know you has been…so cool. I don’t know. I just…I love you, Daisy. You’ve become like a sister to me.”

I couldn’t help but feel the tears well up in my eyes. “Oh, Ronnie,” I sniffled, hugging her around the shoulders.

She pulled me close to her and I swear I heard her sniffle a bit, too. “I’m sorry for not noticing what was happening. I should’ve been there for you more. I got caught up in my own-”

“Don’t even apologize,” I reared back with my reply, “No. It’s nobody’s fault. I’m not even blaming myself for what happened. It was a stupid, weird situation. It was my responsibility to come to you if I needed help. I just needed…I just need to go home now.”

Ronnie smiled a sad, peaceful smile. “I hope I get to see you again soon. I don’t know what I will do without your bright light.”

“Oh, you will. You guys will be in the US soon. Sam said he was gonna drop by. I am positive you’ll be there, too,” I dropped a sly wink.

Ronnie watched my face for a moment, “I mean, of course you know now. But…” she narrowed her eyes, grinning in shocked realisation, “Fucker. You knew the whole time?!”

“Of course I knew the whole time. Sam is-” I snorted, “Sam is not hiding his lovesick, puppy-dog eyes.”

Ronnie’s gaze widened slightly, “I-”

The doors of the taxi popped open as the boys joined us, Max in the back on my other side, Sam in the front. He saw our laughing, secretive expressions in the rearview mirror and turned back. “What are you two doing?”

I brushed my hands across my cheeks to clear whatever tears might’ve been rolling still, then shook my head. “Nothing, Sam-Ham.”

He turned his eyes to Ronnie and tilted his chin forward. She shrugged, a smug smile contorting her once saddened face. Ronnie dropped a wink, “Nothing at all.”

The second person to make me cry was Max. Out of everyone, he was probably my best friend at this point. We had spent so much time together, out drinking, dancing, holed up in my hotel room with trays of room service, movies on the tv. He had been there through one of the most terrifying, exhilarating, strange summers of my life. We were bonded forever, now. I could feel it.

He was helping me check in while Sam and Ronnie headed to drop off our baggage. They were all just planning on hanging for the extra hour until it was time to check in for their flight. I was grateful they all wanted to sacrifice the time for me. To them, though, I knew it was second nature.

Some people made it easy, loving me.

I shook away the thoughts because the attendant was handing me my ticket. She reiterated boarding time, twenty minutes from now, and wished me a safe flight. “Thank you,” I nodded before turning back to Max.

The tall blonde was watching me. I could tell he was on the verge of tears from just the way that his shoulders shrugged forward. It made my heart swell, knowing how much of an impact I had had on them.

He tried to straighten up as I looked him in the eye. Then, he opened his mouth to say something. I threw myself into his arms before he could. Hugging me tight, Max brushed a hand down the back of my head.

“Oh, sweet, lovely angel. I am going to miss you so.”

I didn’t need to hear anything else to start crying into his chest. Max felt the rock of my shoulders and sniffled into my hairline. “Don’t start, love. I won’t be able to stop, myself,” he chuckled shortly.

We stood like that for a few minutes, maybe more, before I stepped back. I rubbed my eyes on the inside of my sweatshirt, knowing my face was flushed and probably swelling. Max touched his fingers to my wrists and gently brushed aside my hands. He took in my visage, so delicately, and sighed. “Can I just say…”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed through a sob. More tears fell.

Max rubbed my shoulders, “No, no, no, love. It’s okay. No more tears, okay? We’ll be okay. Just…I just want- I need to tell you how important you are. I know you’re going to go home and things are going to start to settle and you’re going to start to think so many things about yourself. You are so easy to love, Daisy. It is like breathing to me, to Ronnie, to Sam, Sasha. It is breathing. And you are worthy of it, too. That’s all. I just…I just needed to tell you, okay?”

I didn’t say anything else. I just whimpered and pulled him in closer to me.

Sam was the worst.

Since the evening before, when I had broken down in his arms and told him, through my blubbering, a short synopsis of what had happened, we hadn’t spoken much. I didn’t know if it was simply because we didn't have enough time. But, I was feeling worse because of it.

I needed my big brother more than anybody else. Sam knew me better than anybody else, even if we hadn’t been around each other as often as we used to. He still understood me. We shared the same blood, for God’s sake.

Yet, as we sat there, in the waiting area of my plane’s gate, he didn’t even look at me. He stared down at the floor, hands folded in his lap. He sat across from Ronnie, Max, and I, making it known that he wanted nothing to do with the conversation. When he first sat there, the aisle a wide gap between us, I furrowed my brows. But, then, Ronnie and Max striked up some topic that I invested myself and my attention into.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal until they called for me. I stood up, faster than I should’ve, to be honest, and began to gather my things. Phone, bag, jacket, passport. I ran the list over in my head, three times over.

All the while, Sam slowly stood, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and watched his feet as he scuffed his sneakers across the carpeted floor.

I passed my eyes over him for a moment, holding my breath. Surely, my brother would have something to say to me.

He didn’t make a move.

I began walking the short distance to my gate. Before I moved to get in line, though, I turned back to my friends. Max jumped for a hug first, barely allowing me enough time to fully settle back on my heels. I dug my feet into the ground to gain traction as his ginormous body came toppling into my arms. Ronnie joined in the hug yet struggled to toss her arms over Max’s tall frame. He adjusted as we all shared a laugh and tucked her in beside me.

He called over his shoulder, voice muffled, “Get in here, Sam-Ham!”

I heard my brother elicit a laugh. It felt refreshing to hear. Then, I felt the hug grow tighter as he joined in on Max’s other side. We didn’t stay like that for long. It was stuffy and I wasn’t getting much air.

So, I tapped Max’s back and said, “Alright. Let me go.”

I gave individual hugs to everybody, voicing my own grateful, somewhat short, goodbyes.

Then, I turned to my brother. He evaded my eye contact for a moment or two. Then he pulled me in. Tight.

Out of nowhere, “I’m sorry if he ruined your summer.”

Tensing up from the words, the mention of him, I slowly pulled back from Sam’s embrace. He held onto my back, sort of cradling me. The guilt lying in his eyes was far worse than anything I’d ever seen flash across his face. My own gaze softened from the taut expression it had anxiously contorted to.

“What?” I breathily inquired, unsure if I had heard him correctly, saddened that he was obviously carrying so much hurt from my stupid mistakes. “Why? Sam, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, Daz, I just…” Sam’s arms fell from around me. I missed the warmth as soon as the chill of the vast room settled in around my sweatshirt. He ran a veiny hand across his forehead, “I'm supposed to be there for you. Protect you. And I already suck at the first part.”

“Sam,” I grasped his wrist, slipping his fingers between my hands. “It’s not your fault. It’s…honestly, if my summer was ruined, it was because of my own shitty decisions. Besides, you don’t suck at being there for me. I can’t believe you would even think that!”

I clasped his hand tight between mine, brows furrowed. To hear him blame himself, to hear him look this way…This whole summer, I had spent my time obsessing over somebody who didn’t even want me. I should have paid more attention to my brother, who was part of the reason I was here in the first place.

The farther I got from the start of this journey, literally and figuratively, the blurrier my original dreams became. There was no meaning to find here- only what was already there.

The thought made me lick my lips in nervous realisation.

Sam let out a frustrated, breathy chortle. “Don’t give me so much credit. I’ve been…gone. Running away from home. For so long. Worried about getting out of that apartment and town and away from…from anything that could remind me of her. Remind me of mom. I left you behind in the process.”

The wetness in my eyes began to pour over. “Oh, Sam,” my lips trembled out as I dove back into his arms. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as though an airplane would dive down and pull him away. I needed this. This kind of hug. This moment.

Clarity was nearer than ever before.

“Listen,” I pulled back, “I need you to understand, okay? My summer was not ruined. It wasn’t. This entire experience has been the most amazing, wonderful, awesome, cool time. I got to spend so much time getting to see you, getting to see your world. And, don’t ever blame yourself for getting away. You had to. I see it now- You had to come be a part of this wonderful band, go with them on all of their amazing tours. I see it on your face, Sam. This is what you’re supposed to do, okay? My mistakes are my own. Not yours.”

“I just…” Sam stared at the floor for a moment, tongue quick to go and defend his original claim But he paused and let the information process. “I…I just wish I could punch him in the face or something. What a douche. Dragging you into his mess. I should’ve known, too. The way he treated you- it was so obvious. For that, I am sorry, Daisy. I should’ve said something. Honestly,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I should beat his ass.”

Max and Ronnie, who had been trying to make it appear as though they were not eavesdropping, laughed at the last line. I opened up Sam and I’s moment by taking a step back. I gave them space to join us here. Ronnie clasped Sam’s hand and rested her head on his shoulder, “As funny as that would be, he is still your boss. And your bandmate,” she nodded to Max.

The tall blond rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep it civil.”

It was my turn to scold. I punched Max in the shoulder to gain his eye contact, “Don’t try. Just do it. He’s not a bad person. He just…sucks. A little bit.”

Talking about him, living in the truth of the situation, confronting all the dark realizations- it was a heavy weight to bear. I felt my shoulder slinking forward, as though I were Atlas with the dark, cloudy sky above me. Though I didn’t want to be rid of these three, I needed to be gone already. I needed to go before it all came crashing down again. I didn’t want anybody else to see me cry again. It was…embarrassing, to say the least.

So, I allowed one last hug from each of them and then turned towards my gate. I boarded the plane, mindlessly, going through all of the motions. Like I was used to leaving, like I was good at it. Like I was strong. But, I felt weak. I felt heavy and sad and angry and…

The city was gray. I remember it being sunny, summer-weather, though there had been a chill in the air. He always said it was. Maybe it always had been and I was…crazy. Wide-eyed. Desperate or naive or whatever.

But it was clear as day now, how dreary it looked from this airplane window. The wind whipped at the airline workers, shuffling luggage to their places, green vests billowing up. My breath fogged at the window which narrowed my pointed gaze. It seemed the plane was being pumped full of heat. I hadn’t realized it was that cold outside.

I guess fall was coming.

“Ladies and gentleman, this is your reminder to place your devices on airplane mode. We are approaching take-off,” a thick, European accent declared over the PA system.

I wrestled to retrieve my phone from my bookbag, which was squished in between my feet. When I was able to lift it towards me, the screen lit up. There was a buzz from the device that vibrated my hand then the appearance of a text message.

Oliver: Daisy, I need to tell you…

The message cut itself off, only the sneakpeek visible due to the system settings I had on my device.

It was ominous, though, like it had chosen to cut itself off there.

The tail end of that message could be- anything.

Daisy, I need to tell you…you’re a dumb bitch?

…I fucking hate you.

I love you?

Please, stay?

I don’t think I wanted to know.

My thumb hesitated over the screen, barely gracing it’s smooth glass. If I tapped on the message, if I saw what he said…would it change things?

Would it make me hate him even more?

Would it make me want to stay?

I didn’t want anything else to make my decisions anymore. I wanted to make my own choices, based on my own actions, thoughts. I was tired of living up to everybody’s image of me. If that was all I learned this summer, to be true to what I wanted, to be true to myself…then maybe this summer wasn’t so bad after all.

Maybe there had been something to find- maybe that something was me.

The shaking in my hands must’ve made the screen react to a ghost of my fingerprint. The option to scan my face ID came as soon as a flight attendant passed by my section, a bright smile on their face.

“Hi, friend! Did you put your device on airplane mode?” They asked with a slight gesture towards my phone.

I glanced back at the screen as she pointed. The message was open. That’s where it had ended, what Oliver had sent to me. “I need to tell you something.” But, he was still typing, still coming up with words to say.

My hands moved quickly, sliding down the menu and thumbing the airplane option. If he were still typing, I couldn’t see it anymore.

And any messages he may try to send would go green, undelivered, lost.

Forgotten, in the skies, somewhere between London and Germany, during the beginning of a cold, cold autumn.

#sleep token #sleep token x reader #vessel x reader #sleep token smut #sleep token x you #vessel x you #vessel sleep token #sleep token band #sleep token fanfic #sleep token iii

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athousandbyeol · 11 hours ago

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keep up the thamepo [episode 5]

i was a bit frustrated with myself initially because, after the first watch, I was left confused... and jaded... and a bit dissatisfied with this week's episode.

it has nothing to do with the acting, but I thought it felt a bit fragmented? nano's story arc didn't flow as smoothly as jun's or dylan's? i was trying to make sense of it—why it felt like there were still missing puzzle pieces in nano's portrait. but I guess, after making another observation, I guess nano was the last puzzle piece. i didn't realise it until I watched the episode again.

i wonder if this has to do with how the story is told from thame's perspective? the simplicity, somewhat straightforward nature of how everything unfolds kind of reflects thame's perception of his feelings for po? how he thought that po was just wanting 'to be friends' with him. how he didn't know he was in love with po—not until pepper provided a different approach for him to understand and come to terms with his feelings?

therefore, in this week's recap, it'll be a bit shorter than my previous posts because this episode was quite straightforward in terms of storytelling. however, I do want to address some apparent parts that itch my brain, which are, jun and thame's dynamic, the parallelism between nano and po, and also po and thame's upcoming love arc.

1. jun and thame — one who ignites the fire; one who is on fire

i think 80% of the confusion comes from me not understanding what on earth jun was doing.

in last week's post, i said that jun might be fond of po in the sense that he was concerned about him because of his closeness with thame? jun might have an idea of po and thame's emotions for each other, so this is his way of showing his concern.

however...

everything he did somehow sent me to the edge. it made me assume that he might... like... po? romantically. i mean, if I don't know jun and po the way I do now, I might assume that they have feelings for each other (or at least, jun has feelings for po).

but then again, when i watched the episode, I didn't think jun likes po romantically? it's more like jun's trying to test the connection between po and thame—or he was just testing thame all along.

but one thing that i really like about the whole 'jun answered all of thame's calls on po's phone' is how transparent thame's jealousy is to everyone, but it's still transparent to him.

it's so interesting how thame is visibly uncomfortable with the idea of jun being close to po—at least in his eyes—romantically. because I feel like thame has always tried to conceal some parts of himself from the world due to his selflessness. yet, in this week's episode, I can safely say that thame has finally shown his selfishness.

and it kind of makes my heart skip a beat because po is the reason. thame's behaviour and demeanour in this episode stem certainty in me that aside from his dreams of making everyone's wishes come true, making po happy and loved is his new dream. and it's not forced, this dream of showing and giving po the whole world—it's because he genuinely loves him. (but at this point, thame didn't realise it yet xD)

a quick shoutout to pepper for being the group's observer. he's closely monitoring the group, helping thame bridge the members together, and giving advice to thame from the perspective of an outsider—a watcher. I'm thankful that thame has pepper as the vice leader because in my opinion, pepper judges with this sense and intuition, while thame makes decisions more on his senses than feelings. so it's great that thame and pepper are the leaders of the group because they complement each other well; pepper emotionally supports thame and helps him get a better grasp of the smaller picture—thame's way of helping pepper will unfold next week, I assume (and I'm excited/nervous for it to be honest...)

but again... the jealousy thame portrays is delicious.

it's fascinating because thame's jealousy is directed solely at jun and not po.

he could still smile at po. he was excited to have a conversation with po. he was always looking out for po.

but whenever he was looking at po, there was jun.

i like that in this scene, po was really just genuinely sharing about his day (I could imagine them being exactly like this when they start dating). he was so happy to talk to thame (po's so precious I'm actually devastated T_T). but as soon as the mentioned jun... thame just... he was set aflame. and it's so satisfying to see him this way. he's finally being selfish for once.

and jun kept pushing thame's buttons, all the right ones. and he was on edge. he was jealous. he was fuming. he was confused. he was... dejected.

however, i wonder still if everything jun said to po holds an opposite meaning? was he trying to tell po that "can't you see? thame really likes you?" what are your thoughts on jun? i really want to know (because I still don't understand his intentions t_t)

thank you pepper for helping thame realise his feelings for po :(

i like the idea of thame's inexperience of never liking or having a crush on someone makes his feelings for po appear stronger, bolder and limitless. thame has so much love to give po once he accepts the buzz in his head and the heaviness in his chest as I'm in love with phi po.

i think, the moment of epiphany for thame is beautifully done. the self-acceptance, the happiness and the relief that he finally understood his fondness for po are gorgeous. (so, jun, stop teasing thame and po, will you? po is definitely thame's type and thame's definitely in love with po.)

2. nano and po — a shadow, a reflection, two hearts

i'm actually geeking out at the idea of nano and po as a shadow, a reflection and heart to the people who regard them as important in their lives.

nano is just... beautiful.

to me, nano navigates his thoughts and feelings as a member of MARS with his heart. it makes him somewhat pure and innocent. he just loves his members. he loves MARS so much.

but it's heartbreaking how he doesn't see his significance as a member of the group—as the group's core.

all these stills of nano building the tent, helping the members, etc, illustrate his importance to the group. to me, he enhances each member's charms. he brings them to the spotlight. he helps clear the mist clouding them so that people can see MARS in all of their glory.

however, i do realise that nano is struggling with self-confidence. he doesn't know if he could ever make it without MARS. he's unsure if he could ever exist just as nano and not nano of MARS. he feels like a shadow underneath the members' feet. he doesn't feel he holds any importance.

nano reflects po. nano parallels the old po.

it's a beautiful parallelism—these two broken hearts were just afraid of disappointment. of uncertainty. of grief. of incompetence. of falling apart.

but i'm so thankful that po steps up to help nano realise that he's important—he's the heart and soul of MARS. with his portrayal of honesty from past experience, I love how sincere and raw po's words are. i surely believe it's everything nano needed.

(and i absolutely love how nano and po are wearing the same shade of yellow, indicating that both of them experienced similar scenarios. i think po will be nano's favourite phi in the future. he'll emotionally lean on po the most because po understood him through and through. it's so sweet T_T)

i think it's also healing po emotionally. he has finally confronted his past emotional trauma by indirectly talking about it to nano. it must've been tough to share a part of our utmost vulnerability with someone, but I'm glad po was strong enough to make a truce with everything he experienced in the past and helped nano see just how important he's to MARS. thank you, po <3

i love that MARS finally feels complete now—they finally feel like a family again.

even if the future is uncertain, at least they have each other to lean on (I'm just going to cry in the corner when that time comes...) and nano being in the centre? that's MARS's heart and soul right there. <3

3. thame and po — one step closer, 5 cm

finally, thame and po are physically close.

episodes 1 to 4 did an amazing job of showing us how thame and po build their emotional closeness through heart-to-heart talks, helping each other out, eating sandwiches together, remembering one's phone number, etc. thame and po are already close without thame realising, without po thinking.

i'm obsessed with how thame's deepest feelings now overboil once it's constantly triggered by the idea of jun and po's ambiguous connection in his eyes. i think it's how most of us realise our first crush on someone—the intensity, and the confusion are somewhat daunting. but again, I'm glad pepper was there for thame to understand his feelings—and jun was there for po to doubt if it was ever true.

this shot is INSANE.

my heart really skipped a beat. really.

i think it's because thame initiated this touch and it was the first time that they've ever touched this intimately (at the waist—in my head it's one of the most intimate places to touch) and it was after he made a move to understand his boggling feelings for po—

(distant screaming and screeching)

the shock and happiness and yearning and intimacy is just SCRUMPTUOUS I'm honestly jumping off—

just the notion of thame finally coming to terms with his emotions—finally understanding that he likes po and he likes everything about po and it makes sense now is just gorgeous.

the happiness on thame's face... my heart is aching. i hope he'll be happy for a long time.

(AND THE HUG! THE HUG! instead of holding po's hand, thame hugged po. i like the idea that they are chest to chest, heart to heart, listening to the sync beat of their thundering hearts, realising that oh, I like phi po. ph, phi po likes me too. INSANE INSANE THAME I SWEAR THIS IS THE START OF A HAPPIER JOURNEY FOR YOU DON'T WORRY LOVE PO LOVES YOU AND YOU LOVE PO AND THAT'S ENOUGH)

but...

what will happen next week? are we finally getting pepper's (devastating) story arc? and what's up with the heartbreaking tension between po and thame? and why are we getting jun's "between phi and thame, it's impossible" next week? I'M NOT EVEN MENTALLY SANE TO TAKE IT—

*jumps off* *crying* *screaming* i don't know anymore.

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thiccpersonality · 2 days ago

Text

5 Times Bruce Was Protective of His Pups (+2 Times They Were Protective of Him)

3: The Search

Not many people recall their childhoods (for the most part), let alone what happens in it, nor would anyone expect a child to so easily remember things from their lives as they are in the process of living it...but, Timothy Jackson Drake isn't just any person or child. That's what his mother says at least, or...that was something she said to him in the days that her and father paid him any mind. Nowadays Tim finds it difficult to get their attention if he isn't being useful to them in some way, and even then...

Anyway! Tim just wishes he knew what exactly he did wrong and where he messed their relationship up.

He wants to go back to the days where his mom held him in her arms and cooed to him about how precious he is to her. He desires to receive fond looks from his dad in the way he used to when he was three and running around their home.

Now.

Now Tim is stuck on his own and spiraling on what to do.

Things the neglect started to happen slowly: his mom or dad sending him off whenever he tried to get their attention while working, their personal time together slowly being replaced by toys and trinkets that he was excited to get at the time because they were a symbol of his parents love for him, his parents hiring more babysitters for him instead of finding time to just simply...be with him. Which is why Tim has started to chase off every and any caretaker that comes to his parents million dollar home. Every expensive toy and gadget spent on him is now thrown violently against the walls or floors in a desperate plea for attention, it's all he wants, it's all he's asking for...and that's not much, is it?

"Timothy, please just-"

The nanny grunts in pain as she's hit harshly in the nose by a six year old Tim, the boy disregarding any guilt or shame he has for taking his anger out on the caregivers, most of them are good people...he just needs to use them to get his parents attention again. The woman steps back in shock, raising a hand to feel her nose and wincing at the blood she feels dripping from it, that's it! She can't take this anymore; taking care of such an unruly pup. She's tried her best for a couple months now to be patient with him, the boy obviously has issues with his parents, but she can't put her health on the line anymore.

Tim screeches loudly while watching the beta leave, calming down enough to listen in on his parents as they realize another babysitter is being chased off. "Dana, where are you going? We need you to watch him for the week, we have a business trip, remember?" The pup clenches his small hands into his shirt as he pokes his head around the corner with a sniffle, blue eyes watching as his dad attempts to chase the beta down, one hundred dollar bills clasped within his hand as he waves them in Dana's face. "We'll raise your pay! It's not an issue for us, you know-"

Dana keeps her hand pressed to her nose, her eyes narrowing accusingly at Jack and Janet Drake as she turns to stare at them.

"I know you can't keep an eye on your own kid for two fucking seconds! Your kid has problems, okay? And I've tried to be patient, but I can't anymore! Just spend some time with him, that's all he wants." Dana hisses at her ex-employers while tugging on her jacket angrily, the glare softening up a bit as she catches a peek of Tim curiously looking over the corner towards his parents, "Goodbye Tim."

Janet reaches for the woman in a last ditch attempt to keep her in place, her mouth opening wide in shock as the beta slams the door in her face loudly. "Jack, what are we supposed to do!? We have a business meeting to go to! We can't watch after our mutt." Tim perks up as he's gestured at, wiping the tears from his eyes as he steps out from the corner and skips towards his parents almost giddily, tugging at his dad's suit pants. "Daddy-"

"I'm sure we can find someone last minute? Or he can stay home by himself...he seems like a capable young man."

Tim pouts as his dad speaks over him, but the fact his mom and dad are even talking about him is...everything and more to him. The boy stands a little taller as his mom looks at him, it's not the looks he remembers receiving from her, but at least it's something. "Capable? He...looks like he's a bit chubby, doesn't he? Have our nanny's been over feeding him? I don't think I remember him ever being this fat, they must have let him get into the snacks."

Janet pinches at her son's face experimentally, her eyebrows furrowing in worry. "Will him being over fed have an effect on his presentation?"

Jack Drake rolls his eyes at his wife's worrying, looking at his watch hurriedly. "If he's an omega, shouldn't we want him to be plump? Alphas enjoy breeding one's with meat on their bones...I think." Janet curls her lips in disgust, "Don't even say that about Timothy! We don't want him to be an omega, they are weak and useless, I've seen it with my own mother how good-for-nothing omegas are. He'll be an alpha."

Tim has no idea what his parents are talking about, but the way his mom tugs him protectively to her side causes him to trill happily.

"But if he were an omega, imagine how useful he could be to us and our business-" Jack pauses to give his wife time to process what he said, smiling victoriously at her curious look-"If he looks good enough and smells pleasing enough, he could help to sway any potential business partners into making deals with us. Imagine the cards we hold by letting them think they'll get a hold of our son." Janet looks away in thought before glancing down at Tim, "What good would that be to us? The one business partner we want to work with us not only is an omega himself, but takes his job seriously...now that he has a pup of his own at least. It's not like he'd be willing to sleep around anymore, and we don't even know if he's ever slept around with other omegas anyway."

Tim smiles up at his mom and pushes into the hand in his hair almost desperately, purring softly at the attention.

"It could all be lies, Janet. Bruce Wayne is easy, gives it up for just about anyone from what I've heard, I bet when Tim reaches a certain age, he'll at least think about it. And with Bruce's kind of influence and sway on people, do you not think he covers up his sex-capades." Jack looks out the window at the honking outside, checking his watch one last time with a sigh, "Our ride is here. It seems like we have to take Timothy with us this time...there's no time for a babysitter."

Janet frowns displeased, pushing her pup ahead of her with a groan. "It seems you'll be traveling with mother and father, Timothy."

————°————

Tim practically vibrates excitedly in his seat as he peers down his window at the earth below, things look so small from up here, but it's also very pretty. The pup chirps happily and turns towards his parents excitedly, ready to tell them how amazing flying is and how he's just happy they're paying attention to him again, but his shoulders slump pitifully when seeing his mom talking on the phone with someone, papers strewn about her table as she fuses with whoever is on the other line. His eyes look over hopefully towards his dad instead, only to cloud over with disappointment as the man clacks away on his computer. "Mommy-"

The beta shushes him harshly, narrowing her eyes disapprovingly at him for interrupting her phone call while making frantic gestures towards her husband, a motion that tells Tim to: 'go bother your father instead and leave me to my work.' Those are words that the boy is used to hearing on a daily basis, so, with a huff he turns toward his dad. "Daddy?"

The male beta doesn't respond, too engrossed in his work to hear his pup or pay attention to the boy hopping out of his chair and making his way slowly over to him. "Daddy?"

Tim blinks optimistically up at his dad, hoping that now because he's closer to the man, the other will finally notice his presence and at least glance his way. But, the older only continues to type away on his device, causing the boy to feel jealous over the keyboard and how it gets his father's touch, his stomach churning at the reminder that his mother's phone gets to hear her voice constantly, how she always seems to hold it in her hands as if it's her most treasured thing.

Tim sniffles and tries to hold back his tears, he remembers his mom telling him she dislikes children that act as babies and his dad reminding him that young men don't cry.

But...it's just so hard not to. All Tim wants is to be his dad's son again, desires to be his mom's little boy-he glares at the devices his parents are using enviously, is that the issue? He isn't being useful enough to his parents in the way that the devices are? Has he become too lazy and comfortable with his parents affection that he's started slacking off on his duties? He doesn't know what caused him to have this reaction-no, this outburst-but Tim snatches his father's computer from under his quick fingers, throwing it violently against the wall of the jet with an outraged cry, ignoring his father's surprised shout in favor of targeting his mother's phone next, his gaze fixed on the metal with hate as he charges towards her with a scream.

Janet's eyes widen, her hands fumbling for the mute button before lifting it away from her child, trying to push the boy away while making sure she hasn't hung up.

"Gimme...the...phone!"

Tim crawls over his mom, tears dripping down his face as his distressed scent escapes him, too focused on his present task to bother covering up his feelings as his parents have instructed him to. He grunts as he's held back and even pushed slightly by the beta, her tone clipped, "Tim Drake! Cut it out, now! You better not make me hang up-" Janet gasps in shock as a small hand slaps her cheek, her and the pup freezing in place as if they both are trying to process what just happened.

After a few seconds of silence, Tim whines loudly while tugging his mom forward by her suit jacket and snatching the phone from her hands in her state of shock, tossing it behind him and pressing closely to her chest in apology for putting his hands on her.

Janet seems to snap out of it when her phone is taken away from her, still too stunned in the moment to bother doing anything about it and just watching as it smacks loudly against one of the other tables. Her pup's souring scent causes her nose to sting in displeasure from the stench, her lips curling in disgust. "Timothy Jackson Drake." The pup tenses at the woman's eerily calm voice, a small cry escaping him as her hands tighten painfully on the nape of his neck while tugging him away from the warmth and comfort of her breasts, the tears falling harder as his only source of affection and love is taken away from him.

"You are a bad pup. Very bad."

Janet's tone takes on a rough timbre, a sound that's only used on pups when they particularly misbehave and won't listen to their parents, usually used as a last resort to command the pup into doing whatever it is you are asking them to do or not do...usually for their benefit when the child doesn't listen to any regular scolding.

But Tim doesn't understand it.

He can see her being upset over being hit and wanting to correct him on it...but doesn't she see the reason why he did it? It wasn't meant to hurt her or anything, he just...wants his mom and dad. And the only time they seem to pay attention to him is if he lashes out this way, he thought this is how he was supposed to get time with them. "M-Mommy-" he gets cut off by his own whining at the painful sting to his neck glands, his mother's nails digging into the sensitive flesh meanly. "M-Mommy-" Janet mocks-"Don't whine! You know I don't like the whining and the sniffling, Timothy. You know you don't put your hands on others, especially your parents."

Does he know that?

It's not as if Janet and Jack are around to teach him those things. If anything, it was his nanny that always told him that.

Tim opens up his mouth, planning on defending and explaining himself to his mother as to why he felt the need to do what he did. It's not that he meant to interrupt their business, but that they only seem to look his way when he acts out and chases off a nanny or gets in-between their work, that any other way proves useless if it's not him being disruptive to the company. It seems though that he won't be able to plead his case, because he can't even get a word out his throat, noises seem to be getting harder to make now as he's held in place by his mother.

Is he even breathing?

Janet shakes Tim out of his thoughts with a deep frown on her face, "You better hope that my phone isn't broken or else you are in even more trouble." She stands up abruptly, not concerned about her pup's body twitching in pain as he's dangling midair by his neck, his face growing pink as his airways are slowly cutoff. "You need to be put in time out. You can't continue to act like this, do you hear me? Time is money and money is time, yet you seem to not understand that yet, Timothy."

Tim looks to his dad for help, a bone chilling coldness spreading from the inside out at seeing the man is over near his computer, brows furrowed in genuine concern as he looks over the device, his hands brushing the screen carefully as he makes sure it still works.

The pup slumps in defeat as the realization of his circumstance sets in, feeling numb as his mom leads him to one of the smaller bathrooms on their private jet and harshly dumps him on the floor, not bothering to apologize for treating her own child so meanly as she says...something else to him, he can't really hear her over the blood rushing in his ears and the sound of his desperate gasps for air. Tim flinches as the door is slammed harshly in his face and something heavy pushed in front of it to keep him trapped inside, his eyes carefully observing the restroom before landing on the sinks lower cabinet and feeling the urge to crawl inside of it.

And crawl he does.

Tim whimpers quietly to himself as he pushes the items in the cabinet out to make space for himself, curling into a small ball as he hugs himself tightly, ignoring the lingering scent of his angry mother that clings to his clothes as he closes his eyes to rest.

————°————

Blue eyes open in panic, glazed over in confusion at the plush feeling underneath him. Tim sits up in bed confused, his nose twitching as he scents the unfamiliar room, hope poking at his mind with the thought that everything that happened was actually just a bad dream, but the slight sting to his neck stamps on that hope and tells it otherwise. "Daddy? Mommy?" His voice is soft and scratchy as he calls out for them, allowing some anxiety to creep into his tone in the hopes that maybe their minds have changed, that maybe they will rush to his bedside with an apology on their tongues and regret in their gazes as they scoop him into their arms and promise that things will change from here on out.

Tim gives up on calling them after a couple of minutes, hot tears pricking at his eyes as he realizes that they left him, for the meeting they've been going on about most likely, but it still doesn't make the acceptance any easier to come to terms with. The pup sniffles and crawls out of bed, looking down at his clothes and feeling a sharp stab of pain in his chest at seeing himself still in his daywear. I guess he wasn't important enough to change clothes? He looks down at his feet and feels an odd sense of contentment seeing that his shows are gone at least...at least they care enough to take them off for him, right?

His stomach growling loudly interrupts the spiraling thoughts, the six year old biting his lip as he scrubs at his wet eyes.

Tim slowly steps closer to the door, indecisive on whether to find food himself or not, making his decision to leave the room as his stomach growls again. The child exits the room and looks left and right carefully, perking up at seeing a small group of people heading left towards the elevators and following them, ignoring their curious looks as he pushes his way on with them. "Where's the cafeteria?"

The adults have already ignored him in favor of talking their business or vacation plans with each other, the pup sighing sadly at how he can't even get other grown-ups to pay attention.

A light tap to his shoulder startles Tim, the small boy turning around and looking up into the friendly eyes of a teenager, the alpha smiling kindly down at him. "You said you were looking for the cafeteria, right?" Tim nods shyly and shifts from foot to foot. "Funny thing is that I was just heading down there! I can take you there if you want? Though, uhhh-" the young alpha glances at the distracted adults inquisitively-"are one of these folks your parents?" Tim doesn't know how to feel at the larger hand carefully wrapping around his own, his small fingers instinctively clenching down at the feeling of warmth as he shakes his head. "No. My parents said that they would...meet me in the cafeteria, that's what they said." The look the teen gives him causes the pup to look away in fear that he'll find out his lie, luckily enough, the older boy ends up smiling instead and guiding him out the elevator with a soft tug to his hand.

"That's alright! Do you mind if you eat with me and my family for today? We can keep an eye on ya while waiting for your parents to come get you."

Tim knows that he should say no...there are a million things wrong with this plan, one of them being that this young alpha and his family will realize his parents are never coming to get him because they already left. But, the way the older looks excitedly-even hopefully-down at him, causes Tim to slowly nod in agreement. "O-Okay? Are you sure they won't mind me intruding? Breakfast is a special occasion, isn't it?"

The alpha raises a brow and chuckles, something in his eyes sparkling in amusement as he says: "Trust me. My mom won't mind you at all, and neither will my grandpa. It's actually been awhile since either of them has had the company of a pup, so I think it will make their day." The older grows silent before slapping his head animatedly, "How could I be so rude? I forgot to introduce myself-" he leads Tim to the back of the line and looks down at the boy openly once they are in place-"The name's Richard Grayson, but everyone who's my friend calls me Dick, nice to meet ya." Tim messes with his shirt nervously and nods politely, "Timothy Drake. But you can call me Tim for short."

Richard smiles brightly when the younger gives him a cute, lopsided smile, handing the boy a plate when they get closer to the food. "Drake? Do you mean you're the son of Jack and Janet Drake? That's pretty cool, Tim, I bet you guys have lots of fun together? They seem to take their work very seriously, so I can only imagine how they take family life. What do you want?"

Tim doesn't know what to focus on first, all the questions were asked extremely quickly and in quick succession, barely giving the pup time to think of a response. But it's fine...he doesn't even know how he would respond to them, he doesn't exactly have fun with his parents, and he knows that he can't just outright tell the older boy that his parents ignore him. "Uh...w-whatever they have up there is fine with me." And he means that too, it's been awhile since he's tasted anything really delicious, the only time he eats properly is if a nanny of his actually cooked-and to be honest-it was usually a hit or miss situation with the caretakers, especially since not all of them were properly looked into.

Sometimes Tim got caretakers that forgot about him just liked his parents do.

Richard hums thoughtfully before dumping a pile of bacon, eggs and fruit on the child's dish, the pup's protests being ignored with the loud exclamation of, "growing pups need to eat!"

Tim pouts and allows the alpha to do as he pleases, looking over the cafeteria and perking up at seeing a coffee machine, his small hands tugging at Richard's sweatpants hurriedly. "I wanna drink some of that! It tastes good." At the pup's insistence, the teen looks to where the boy is pointing, scrunching his nose in displeasure at the drink he's pointing at. "Decaf coffee? You must not have tasted any real coffee before, you need to drink it caffeinated in order to enjoy it properly."

Tim tilts his head in confusion, frowning as the older waves his free hand frantically. "Not that you should be drinking coffee yet! I'm a mature almost adult, thank you, so please don't let my mom know that I was supportive of you drinking it."

His...mom?

"Your mommy? Where is your mommy?" The pup turns his head in search of the teens parent, grunting softly as he's finally handed his overfilled plate.

"He's somewhere at one of those tables, or maybe not? He might have gotten a private area depending on it-people always trying to speak to him during resting hours, you know?" Richard dumps a healthy amount of food into his plate, snagging a small box of cheap breakfast cereal the hotel surprisingly has in his hand, salivating at the thought of the heavily processed food on his tongue. "Come on, little guy, right this way." A gentle hand sets itself on Tim's head as it guides him around the tables, the walk seeming not to stop until they reach a set of French doors, the alpha sticking his tongue out in concentration as he lifts his foot to the door handle and presses it down to open it.

Tim looks up at the older one more time, his eyes apprehensive and curious as to if him being here is actually okay, reassured as the teen just chuckles and nudges him forward with a small tap to his calf.

The pup shuffles forward with his plate held in both hands, his nose twitching at the sweet-but not overly sweet-scent that fills the room. This isn't from any of the food, that much Tim knows, nothing in the cafeteria smelled this delicious, this...right, no, this is the smell of an omega. "Whoever is out there...please, go away and at least wait until I'm done eating to ask me questions or make business deals. I-" Tim freezes in place as the prettiest pair of blue eyes turn to look at him, the stern look immediately being replaced with a soft look of pleasant surprise. "Oh!? I'm sorry, pup. Are you okay? Are you lost?"

Tim opens and closes his mouth, unsure of what to say as he flounders for a proper response.

"He's not lost, B!" Richard chirrups excitedly, pushing Tim forward a little more as if he's a cat that caught a gift for its owner and is eager to present it. "I found him in the elevator! He was heading my way-which was to the cafeteria-and I decided he could eat with us since he said he's waiting for his parents."

The omega knows he should ask his son what 'finding him' means, and if the pup's parents even know that he's here with them, but the sight of this small boy holding a plate that looks too big and heavy for his hands causes him to soften. His eyes glistening fondly at the physical signs of the boy's nervousness as he shifts from foot to foot, his gaze being drawn to the socked feet as the small appendage pushes down his rising pant leg. "Pup, where are your shoes? You came down here without any shoes on? Did no one dress you up before bringing you to eat?"

The omega's voice is probing, but not void of any kindness, the man gesturing him forward with an outstretched palm as he finally takes notice of the mountain of food sitting on the boy's plate.

"Richard, why did you give him so much food? Poor thing can barely carry it."

Tim blinks in shock as the omega stands up and helps him carry his plate, pulling out the chair next to him and helping the small boy climb into it, a pleased noise escaping him as he looks at the contents of the plate. "You have fruit? You gave him fruit, Dickybird?"

The teen chuckles and sits next to Alfred, nodding his head and puffing out his chest in pride. "Yup! You always told me growing up that growing pups need food and lots of rest, and I knew if you didn't see any fruits or veggies on his plate that you'd be mad at me for not thinking of his health." Bruce gives a small smile at his son before turning his attention back onto the pup, "I'm glad you could join us for breakfast today, don't worry about not eating everything on your plate, okay? I'm Bruce Wayne, can I ask your name?"

Tim blinks in shock at the name, why does it sound so familiar? The pup continues to stare up at the omega, his little brows scrunching in thought before lifting in surprise, no wonder the name sounds so familiar, Bruce Wayne is the omega his parents were talking about back at home.

Tim shakes himself out of his thoughts, licking his lips nervously before stretching out his hand to shake. "Timothy Drake...but y-you can call me Tim." Maybe it's the neglect skewing his perception of Bruce? Maybe it's the affectionate look the omega is giving to him? Heck, maybe it's the soft and gentle hands carefully shaking his own that make Tim think that maybe he's not so bad. Whatever the reason is, the pup feels something warm nudging at his heart, slowly replacing that lonely feeling with something...familiar? Yes, familiar. The more he looks at those icy eyes sparkling with care and love for a pup that's not even his, it reminds Tim of the way his mommy used to stare at him once upon a time.

Bruce's humored-but gentle-voice wraps around Tim's ears like a warm hug, gently pushing through the insecurities and doubts that have built up within him with the confidence of a man who knows his power, who knows that he doesn't need to use much force to get his way but just needs to simply speak and others listen.

That's how Tim feels as those doubtful inner voices bow out to let Bruce through.

"Oh? And you're a little gentleman too?" Bruce tries not to look too amused at the stupefied look the pup gives him, he can tell that the boy is being serious. "And did you say Drake? You mean like Drake Industries? Your parents have been really persistent in trying to get me to work with them."

A sudden thought pops into Tim's mind; what if he introduces his parents to Bruce for them? So far the omega seems to like him...so what if he's more open to making a deal with his mom and dad? What if...what if him doing this for them makes them notice him again? Things will go back to the way they used to be: his mom cuddling with him in bed as she plays with his hair and tells him stories, his dad chasing him around the house and ruffling his hair fondly whenever he does something good, both his parents tucking him in goodnight and tickling him when he keeps trying to get out of bed and follow them.

Maybe if he proves to them that he's useful to the business, they'll realize that he's also good enough to be their son.

With a renewed determination, Tim chirps happily and finally releases Bruce's hand while leaning forward eagerly. "But my mommy and daddy are reeeeeally good people! They talk about you lots and all the things your companies could do together if you ever gave them a chance-" maybe that's not exactly true? He's heard his parents say some not so nice things about the omega before out of anger, but he doesn't need to know that-"They are just determined and ready to expand the growth of their business to help others!"

Bruce's eyes widen at Tim's sudden enthusiasm, his lips twitching up at the boy's determination. "I know that, Tim...but I am very careful on who exactly I conduct my business with. That and my secretary schedule's meetings based off the most important to the-" he pauses at the look of defeat on the boy's face, purring softly to comfort the pup-"Look, Tim, it isn't that your family or their business isn't important. That's not what I'm trying to convey to you, but, your mother and father's business-let alone-their names are fairly new to the world of business. I admit that they have done a lot of work recently to put their names out there, and I have been looking into the work they do." At Tim's disbelieving stare, Bruce smiles reassuringly and nods his head at the boy. "It's true, I have. I just haven't contacted them yet because I was still looking into them to make sure they are worth meeting with, but I have to say pup, you make a convincing argument on your parents behalf. You'll be a businessman in no time."

The genuine praise does something to Tim, the pup squeaking happily as he looks at the omega in awe, quickly turning back to his food when the older man reminds him it's getting cold.

He doesn't know how long he spent time with Bruce...but somewhere deep inside of the pup, he doesn't want it to end.

Despite all of his desires to gain his parents love and attention, there's a little voice somewhere in Tim's brain that anxiously whispers about them never noticing him again for the stunt he pulled on the jet, about how there's nothing that he can do to ever be enough for his mom and dad. It's a voice that the pup has been fighting against ever since he's noticed this weird shift in his dynamic with the adults, I mean, he's not stupid and he has eyes that work just fine.

It's just...

He doesn't want to believe that part of him that knows the reality of his situation, that knows exactly how things have changed and even how there's no returning to old times

It's a truth that would be too hard for anyone to handle--but a six year old? Yeah, that would be even harder for a child to grasp that their parents don't love as they used to before...that maybe their parents never actually loved them that way, that it was all an act for cameras and company; that maybe they did love him that way, but only once and never again.

"I have to get going, Tim. Are your parents coming?"

Tim breathes in sharply at the question, schooling his features as much as he can before replying: "Hm? Oh, yeah! U-Umm...I...lied."

Bruce shares a quick look with his dad and son before turning back to the pup, "You lied? How? Are you-" Richard cuts the omega off, leaning in towards Tim eagerly, his eyes glistening with an intense delight that the boy has never seen before despite his voice sounding calm. "Do you not have parents? Did you sneak in?"

A harsh nudge from Alfred seems to sober the young alpha back down from his excitement.

"I mean, that's not what I meant to make it sound like, I'm sorry. I hope your parents are still alive, having dead parents really sucks-I'll stop putting my foot in my mouth and shut up now."

Tim tilts his head curiously and turns back to Bruce, "My parents are still alive-" did someone just sigh-"I just meant that they aren't waiting for me...because...because I left the room without them knowing. They said that they were really tired after the flight here and-and fell to sleep as soon as they got to the room." The look the omega gives Tim is similar to the one Richard gave him in the elevator, something about it makes the boy feel as though they can see right through him, that they know he's lying. But, Bruce just nods with a small smile on his face, the look just as disarming as his alpha son's. "Alright, we'll take you back to your room then. I don't want you alone."

Tim bites his lip and-in a moment of desperation-rushes out of his seat to hug onto the omega tightly, burying his face into the soft material of his pants while fisting the man's sweatshirt in his fists.

The pup stiffens up in surprise at the feeling of arms wrapping around him before he melts against the omega's legs, unconsciously letting his scent release, too caught up in the moment to be concerned on the intense scent of desperation, want and relief mixed into his milky aroma. Tim sinks further into the warmth, scenting Bruce's neck when the omega kneels down to his level and nuzzles at him carefully, the scent of the other is soothing in a way that his mom's scent used to be...maybe even still is, but the too quick change in their relationship has made the pup recoil at the scent, the relief of the beta's smell being replaced with trepidation as it always turns sour whenever he's around.

But Bruce...

Bruce's scent is pleasantly soft and sweet with a hint of spice: vanilla, a hint of rose, cinnamon and cardamom. It makes Tim want to stay wrapped up in his arms forever, he is giving the pup everything that he's been looking for in his parents back to him with one embrace. "Shh...it's okay, Tim." Soft hands wipe at the pup's face tenderly, the boy confused as to when he even started to cry, but the soothing rumble of Bruce's omegan call eases Tim's mind and only causes him to press closer to enjoy the gentle back rubbing the other is giving him.

Bruce gives a look to Alfred over the child's shoulder before returning to comforting the pup.

"Timothy, what-" Jack Drake bursts through the French doors, his annoyed scent turning to one of surprise as he sees that the phone call he received wasn't a joke...Bruce Wayne actually called him and Janet. "Mr. Wayne! Is everything alright?" The beta swallows nervously under the omega's stern look, slowly stepping forward until he's close enough to bend down and grab his pup, shushing the boy as he whines and squirms. "We weren't even aware that Timothy left the room."

Bruce purses his lips and nods, "I'm well aware. I understand jet lag is rough on the body, but please, try to keep an eye on your pup."

Before Jack can even ask what he means, Tim's voice croaks in his ear. "I told Mr. Bruce that you and mommy fell to sleep after we landed, you two were tired after the flight and didn't notice me leave." Jack raises his brow but gives a small, almost imperceptible, smirk at the cover-up, the pup must have not wanted them to be in trouble for leaving him unattended in the hotel room. "O-Of course, Mr. Wayne, I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. Are you alright, pup? You aren't hurt, are you?" Tim pauses at the question, his little nose twitching in interest at the scent of concern his dad releases, a small feeling of hope rising within him as he slowly-cautiously-leans his head down to scent his dad, giggling softly when the man nuzzles him back. "D-Daddy!"

Jack smiles softly, his hands gently ruffling his pup's hair to comfort him while releasing his pleasantly mild scent.

"It's alright, son, I'm sorry for not paying more attention to you today, alright? Mr. Wayne...I apologize for any trouble-" Jack immediately closes his mouth at the omega lifting up his hand in a-stop-gesture, the beta's eyes widening at the business card the other slips out of his wallet and extends to him.

"Your son has made a very convincing argument on you and Mrs. Drake's behalves today-" he smiles kindly at the pup-"He told me that you both work so hard to make the world a better place with your inventions and plans. You both always call my office at least twice a month to see if I've changed my mind, so I at least know you aren't quitters, expect a call from my secretary so she can book a date for us to talk. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Drake." Bruce nods politely at the beta and gestures for his family to follow him out, taking a second to look at Tim warmly with a small nod, "And it was a pleasure to talk to you, Tim. Goodbye."

Tim grips his dad's suit jacket at the sight of Bruce leaving, his inner pup calling out softly to the omega in goodbye, trying to ignore the sad feeling churning in his gut as the man disappears around the corner with his family.

Why is he even sad?

Isn't his dad's affection what he wished for?

Tim shakes his head and nuzzles his nose back into Jack's neck, humming contentedly as he isn't put down or pushed away, but hugged closer as his dad rushes out the room and towards the elevators, his foot tapping impatiently as he waits for the elevator to reach the main floor.

The next thing Tim knows is that he's back in the hotel room, the irritated scent of his mother causing him to bury his face further into his dad's neck. "Why are you babying him, Jack? Why were we even called-what? Why are you smiling at me like that?" The boy takes a chance to peak out from his hiding spot in his dad's neck, staring up at the pleased look his dad wears as he holds up Bruce Wayne's business card triumphantly. "I knew having a pup would come in handy! Look what Tim got for us!"

Janet narrows her eyes suspiciously at the card, growling softly at her husband's shaky hands and snatching the card from him so she can read it properly, her scent confused before bursting forth with excitement and shock. "Are you serious!? He-Bruce Wayne? He really ran into Bruce Wayne of all people?!"

Jack smiles wide; victoriously, lowering Tim down to the floor and shaking him off when the boy tries to cling to him. "I know right! I was right when saying that he'd take a liking to our pup, and can you believe that Timothy put in a good word for us? Bruce said that we should be expecting a call from his secretary sometime." Janet stares at the business card incredulously before chuckling and hugging her husband, catching Tim off guard as affection isn't something he really sees from his parents towards each other anymore, but...it feels good seeing his mom and dad jump up and down like two kids in a candy store, he is the cause of that.

Tim looks between his embracing parents in relief at seeing something familiar again, chirping excitedly as he squeezes between the two and grips onto their clothes, stamping down that small voice that tells him this moment won't last forever.

————°————

Tim doesn't know why he ever listened to that voice in his head? He doesn't know why he insisted on convincing himself that things between him and his parents would get better from there.

He was wrong.

He was so very wrong, that much he can admit. The doting and praise lasted the rest of that very day, but as soon as the next day hit, they went back to business-if anything, their obsession over meeting with Bruce Wayne became even worse after actually getting a phone number, everyday was spent looking at their phones twice as much and keeping their email open just in case Wayne Enterprises messaged them.

Now Tim is so much older and wiser. Even though he's only nine, he is sharp in a way he wasn't when he was six, or maybe it's that he's finally allowed himself to not be held back by his own obsession with his parents love?

The point is: he's finally allowed himself to grow beyond them.

Now he's focused on Batman, this enigmatic character that has risen above Gotham as its defender in the night, as the watchman in the shadows against the filth this city holds.

Following Batman has been his favorite past time...that and following Bruce Wayne. He knows it's not...ideal to keep tabs on the omega so closely, but ever since that day at the hotel when the man wrapped him in his arms, it's been an experience on his mind everyday and every night since then. Tim has always desired to get close to the omega again...his parents definitely had enough meetings with the man for him to see him again, but every time he thought about it, he got scared of Bruce's opinion on him changing.

The unwanted thoughts always held him back: 'what if I'm not enough?' 'what if I'm not what he needs?' 'what if it was all an act? Your parents did it before, so why would he not with you?' But...Bruce has been his light at the end of the dark tunnel known as his life, the memory and phantom feelings of a warm hug being one of the only things to keep him from being crushed under the overwhelming weight of the loneliness clinging to his heart everyday, keeping him sane from the thoughts that poke and prod at his restless mind.

Now Batman is another new obsession.

It's not everyday that you see a vigilante with a kid for a sidekick/partner. And the way that he's seen the man treat Robin makes Tim envious of the boy, why is it that a crime fighter gets a better caretaker in his life rather than Tim? Is he living his life in a way that is causing him to not be noticed or wanted by anyone?

Tim doesn't know what it is, but either way, he has been trying to get near Batman for awhile now.

Trying to get the man to notice him and take him in-he can be useful to him! If only he could just prove that to the Bat, surely the other would see what he's capable of and take him in without a doubt. I mean, the other hasn't had a problem doing that with two other pups, so why would it suddenly be an issue for him? Tim licks his lips anxiously, shifting from foot to foot in an old tell of how nervous he actually feels. The pup peeks over the corner, analyzing the rooftop he climbed onto in search of Batman and Robin, they should be arriving soon...he made sure he got the location right tonight, because tonight will be the night that he meets the supposed alpha, he won't settle for anything less any longer.

From his years of careful research and learning Batman's patterns, he knows that this rooftop is a place he and Robin usually visit after every patrol-and unless there's another crime to rush to-there's no conceivable reason for the vigilante to skip coming here tonight.

Tim jumps awake at a, 'whoosh', sound coming from behind his hiding spot. The boy shaking himself awake and taking a deep breath before looking over to where he heard the noise, his lips lowering to a confused frown as he searches the rooftop for Batman.

"I don't think you should be up this high."

Tim squeaks in panic and turns around too quickly, tripping over his feet and falling onto his butt as he stares up at...Clark Kent? Blue eyes blink up in shock at the sight of the reporter in a Superman cosplay, looking the man up and down carefully, his eyes only widening as the mild mannered reporter floats above the ground.

Oh. My. Freaking. Gosh!

Clark Kent is Superman and Superman is Clark Kent.

Tim gets lost in his thoughts, completely unaware of the alpha's growing concern the longer he keeps silent. It makes sense as to why he always thought the man looked familiar, at the time, he didn't really pay the familiar feeling any mind due to being obsessed focused on Bruce Wayne...but it turns out the feeling was because the "beta" is actually an alpha named Superman.

Metropolises most beloved hero is actually a bumbling reporter with a crush on Bruce Wayne. He wonders if Lois Lane knows yet.

Superman softly lands on the ground, extending his hand towards the pup slowly, as if he's trying not to scare a wild animal. "Hey, pup, are you alright? What are you doing up here? This building is really high, so I'd imagine you are pretty cold." It seems as if those words cause Tim to shiver, hm...I guess he was so distracted in his wait for Batman that he didn't process his own coldness. "Can I give you my cape? It'll keep you warm no matter what temperature." Those words bring out the little detective in Tim, he wants to ask so many questions about the material and even if Superman needs the cape himself because he can feel the cold, or if it's more so for any civilians he saves and needs to fly to somewhere safe.

But he can't...not now.

Tim only wants to be wrapped up in Batman's cape, in the exact same way that Robin is whenever he's around the man. "I don't need your cape, Superman. I'm just fine on my own, thanks."

The Kryptonian sighs at the horribly familiar words, his deep blue eyes looking Tim up and down curiously. "Don't tell me you are one of Batman's too? I...wouldn't imagine he'd leave you here alone and without warm clothes." Tim wipes the dirt off his clothes and hands, his interest only growing at the defeated look in the alpha's eyes, does-does he think that Tim isn't fit to be Batman's partner?

The boy growls as fiercely as he can, a small squeak escaping him in his attempts to be intimidating. "I'll have you know that while I'm not his partner yet, I have plenty of skills that will be beneficial to Batman!"

Superman steps back in shock, raising his hands in defeat and crooning at the distressed pup apologetically, the noise embarrassing Tim from how quickly he feels like nuzzling into the man. "Woah there, buddy? That's not what I meant, okay? And what do you mean by skills? You...you don't need to do anything to get the man to want you-" he looks away pitifully and murmurs-"not unless you're an alien from Krypton that is." Those words cause Tim to stop his growling, his look skeptical as he tilts his head, he thought that Superman was in love with Bruce not Batman?

"Wait...but I thought you liked B-"

A deep voice interrupts Tim's question, "Superman. I thought I told you to stop showing up here?" Both the alpha and pup startle at the vigilante's sudden appearance, the former smiling bashfully at the other while the latter gasps softly in awe.

"I know you did...but I like seeing you, is that so bad?"

Robin steps out from underneath Batman's cape, his face displeased at the sight of the alpha. "I thought B also said he didn't want to see your ugly mug? Stay away from him, Superman." The pup is called back to the man's side, the boy humming contentedly at the gloved hands gently raking through his hair, "I didn't call him ugly, Robin. Though I did-" the alpha stops to scent the air, his gaze suddenly turning towards Tim and keeping him in place, a sharp inhale taken in as he notices the other pup's presence-"Oh!? I'm sorry, pup. I didn't see you there. Are you okay? Are you lost?"

That tone...it's oddly soothing-silky-in a way that only one other person's was before. But that person was Bruce Wayne...surely Batman actually isn't-

"Are you alright? Do you need medical attention?" Batman takes a cautious step forward with his hands raised, freezing in surprise at the pup's laughter. "It's you, it's you, it's you! It's really you! I've been searching night and day for you and you're here." Tim shakes with excitement, scrambling forward until he gets close enough to the Bat, he would've gotten closer, but Robin steps in-between the omega protectively.

"Are you high or something?" Robin-Jason-whimpers softly at the gentle slap he receives to his head. "What!? This kid's not makin' any sense."

Tim manages to stand tall despite the slightly aggressive smell the other pup is giving off, he's obviously in the process of developing his own scent as a much more mature one is mixing in with the milky smell of a pup. "I'm here to be Batman's partner! I promise that I can provide a lot of aid to your mission! I won't get in the way!" Robin releases himself from his defensive stance, snorting in disbelief while glancing up at his mom. "He's gotta be joking? What kind of freak show is this?"

Tim balls up his fists and shakes his head furiously, afraid that if he doesn't say something now, Batman will ignore him or turn him away.

"I'm not a freak! I'm being serious! D-Do you know how much time I've put into this?! Every night for three years I have been studying you all's patterns, learning your schedules and keeping tabs on where your next fight will be in the hopes of catching you guys."

Robin takes a step back from the outburst, his sharp look-that Tim can't see-being replaced with one of concern for the younger boy in front of him. "I-...you stalked us? Don't you have a family to go back to or something? Why waste your time doing this? And if you have been following us this whole time, why haven't you ever introduced yourself before?" The younger pup fists at his clothes, once again shifting from foot to foot nervously as he responds, "B-Because I wasn't ready yet. I had to make sure that when I met Batman that everything about me was...prepared."

Tim is unbothered by Robin cringing at the information, all he's focused on is Batman and what he thinks of him. So far so good, he thinks. The omega hasn't pulled away in disgust, neither has he yelled at him to go away, so that must count for something?

Batman gently moves Robin aside, kneeling to Tim's level and grabbing the small hands within his own, rubbing the knuckles repeatedly with his thumbs. "Puppy, I...appreciate your eagerness to help me on this mission, but it's a very hard mission, and-" Tim shuffles forward a little, moving his hand to Batman's cape and gripping it tightly in his hands. "B-But what about your two Robins? They got to fight crime from a young age despite everything, t-they got to help you, why can't I? I-please? I promise that I can do a lot of work. I won't complain or anything-please? I just want to be with you."

Batman does his very best to beat down his instincts to take Tim home, he would in a heartbeat...really, he would, but...

"Your parents, pup. I'm sure they'd be worried about you. So, I think you should head home-" Tim feels his heart stop as that familiar warmth departs from him, frozen in place as Batman pulls away and stands up, pushing the boy closer to the Kryptonian gently-"Superman, can you take him home?"

Tim has no words as he's carefully wrapped up in Superman's red cape, that bone chilling coldness he's adapted to over the years consuming him as he's slowly lifted into the alpha's arms, hot tears pouring down his face unwillingly as the distance between him and Bruce grow further and further apart. "No-" his voice is but a cracked whisper-"No! G-Get off me-Batman, please! I don't w-wanna go home!" Superman shouts as the pup starts squirming mid-air, the alpha trying to calm the pup down and only receiving small fangs to his arm for his efforts. "Get off! Batman! P-Please!"

Superman touches down onto the ground again, lowering himself to the floor gently with the trembling pup in his firm hold, gently shushing the boy as he falls limp.

"W-Why?"

Tim whimpers and digs the palm of his hands into his wet eyes, "W-Why don't y-you remember m-me?" The boy sniffles and chokes on his spit, his breathing picking up as he panics. "W-Why doesn't anyone remember m-me? I can be a g-good pup-" he looks up at Bruce, seeing beyond the mask, because that's who he first admired the most-"M-Mama."

Batman whimpers at the broken noise and rushes to Tim, knees slamming into the rooftop floor as he snatches the troubled pup to his chest, cooing to the boy in reassurance while sending a warning growl Superman's way.

How dare he try to separate him from his pup.

"Timothy Jackson Drake-my little Tim-I...I never forgot you, pup. I always thought about you since the day we met-you-I-" he takes a deep breath in to calm himself-"You reeked of sadness and I did my best to help, even in that short amount of time we knew each other. I had always hoped that your mother and father would bring you to our meetings...but I never saw you, and I know things in Gotham kept me busy, but I never forgot you once."

That icy feeling in his bones is replaced by a warmth at his full name being said by Bruce. He...really did remember him? It wasn't just an experience that Tim let get into his head too much?

"T-Then why?"

Tim sniffles, rubbing his dripping nose on the dark cape, "Why can't I join you? M-My parents won't care, I-I promise they won't!" Batman frowns at that information, tucking the boy under his chin and wrapping his cape around the small frame protectively. "Tim...where are your parents? Did they..."

It's easy to fill in the blanks.

Tim shakes his head and murmurs, "Business trip. Couple weeks now. T-They never remember me."

The angry growl released from Bruce warms Tim to his core, just to know the omega thinks of him as one of his in some way is a relief. He knows that they'll need to talk about boundaries later, and there's still a part of him that hurts horribly at knowing his biological parents don't want him...but at least Bruce does, he imprinted on the man when they met.

The soft click of Superman's cape attaching back onto his suit causes both Tim and Bruce to look up at the worried alpha. "Is...everything okay? You two...uh, met before?"

Tim squints suspiciously at the jealous glint in the man's eyes...is he...jealous of a pup, really? Wait! Maybe he's thinking about it all wrong? If Clark Kent has a crush on Bruce Wayne, and Superman constantly visits this rooftop in hopes of seeing Batman, that could mean that A: Superman has a crush on both and it's a coincidence that he's flirting with the same man, or 2: Superman knows Batman's identity and is beating around the bush by following both personas instead of being an alpha about it and confessing.

Batman stands up with Tim held securely in his arms, the pup's theory being confirmed simply at the way the alpha looks lovingly at the omega for cradling a pup to his side.

And that's a look Tim has seen Clark Kent make many times towards Bruce Wayne at galas and no one else.

"We did." Batman finally answers the alpha's question.

Superman nods slowly, scratching his head restlessly, his lips pursing slightly in thought before speaking: "How? Was...uh...did you meet Tim's father? Do you two know each other or something?" Tim takes a glance towards Batman when his grip tightens on him, the omega's posture radiating bashfulness from the questions. Hm? So Batman does know Superman's identity too. The omega has only ever reacted this shyly towards one humble, Midwestern reporter.

"My father and B are great friends! Batman here even gave my dad a way to contact him, you know?" Blue eyes take notice of the alpha's clenched fists, his eyes sparkling mischievously as they are only confirming his theories.

"Oh? And is your father a hero too?"

Tim opens his mouth to respond, being stopped by a gloved hand covering his mouth, imagining the glare the omega is directing towards the alpha for his prodding. "And why is that of any concern to you? It's my business who I hand my personal information out to." The silence between the two heroes is tense, the alpha conceding with an apologetic smile and an awkward chuckle. "You are...absolutely right, Batman. I don't know what came over me." The Kryptonian trails off, eyeing the shorter man closely as he nuzzles into Tim, his night blue eyes longingly looking at the two and causing the pup to sigh tiredly.

It hasn't even been that long and he's already tired of seeing their willful ignorance of each other's identities.

"You know, I just don't see why I haven't gotten a way to contact you."

Tim grows confused at the groan coming from Batman and Robin, this must be a topic that comes up often, each time being met with the denial of any personal information or way of contact. "We've been over this, Superman, if I need your help-which I don't-then I can call for you. You have super hearing, so you don't need a way to contact me."

The alpha and omega startle at Tim speaking up, "One rule of thumb for any businessman is don't mix pleasure with your biz."

Superman's gaze is quizzical, his deep blue's shifting from Batman to Tim for answers, the pup sighing and gesturing from Clark to Bruce. "I've heard that Mr. Wayne has been looking into buying the Daily Planet-" he tries to hold in his smirk at the omega's breath hitching in surprise-"Do you know what that means, Superman?" The alpha visibly deflates, "He's not looking for a relationship?" The pup facepalms, "I've heard the Daily Planet has a humble reporter named Clark Kent. He's someone I've seen at galas always making goo goo eyes at Bruce Wayne." At those words, Superman clears his throat with a nervous laugh, trying to ignore the sound of blood rushing to Batman's face from underneath the mask.

"Why would I be interested in knowing t-that?"

Tim smirks, "Because...I know you know Lois Lane, Clark Kent's best friend. Maybe you'd be willing to tell her so she can tell Clark, that Bruce Wayne is just as goo goo eyed at Clark Kent than he is with him. Though, I think if either of them had working eyeballs, they'd see what's in front of them already." The emphasis on the last few words cause Superman and Batman to pause, the two standing as still as statues before the alpha laughs loudly while the omega uses the pup in his arms as a barrier between him and Clark when the taller steps closer to him. "I...wasn't sure if you figured it out yet. I knew the day I lead you and Jason up to your room-" Bruce's voice is soft as he finishes the sentence, "The interaction was familiar. You...you found out at the same time?"

Tim nuzzles into Bruce's suit before hopping out of his arms, giving the adults time to speak to each other properly, yelping as Robin slings his arm around his neck and pulls him in close, nuzzling his hair fondly with an excited smile on his face.

"Welcome to the family, Tim!"

The pup chirps in pleasant surprise, nuzzling into his new older brother as he lets the taller scent him, his eyes watering with happiness as he whispers in disbelief, "Yeah...my family."

(Beginning of notes from AO3–I know this chapter wasn't as...full blown protective for a specific reason, but him defending Tim from his self-deprecation and sadness counts, right? 😂 I just really wanted to focus on a neglect-ish kind of aspect here and not anything necessarily big or grand like traumatic flashbacks (necessarily) or mean socialites, instead, it's mean parents.

To explain Clark's defeated look when seeing Tim, he's just afraid that all these pups means Bruce is taken and in a relationship lol. Oh! And excuse Jason's brashness here, he was speaking harshly cause he was protective of his mom is all, but he recognized the loneliness in Tim's voice quite quickly and softened up.

I am a firm believer that Bruce's children adopted him just as much as he chose to do to them 😂. In this story, they all kind of quickly imprint on him. Also, Tim's attachment to Bruce's is obviously implied at him recognizing a familiarity in the way the omega interacted with him...so, he kind of saw him as his "new" mother when they first met, all because Bruce treated him kindly.

Tim will obviously get help for that over the years, and he does genuinely see Bruce as his mom, it's not just a desperation there. I just wanted to focus on his frantic thoughts more.

Please remember to stay safe, happy, healthy and of course lovely as always. You are are truly loved and greatly appreciated! 💛–End of notes from AO3.)

Links to: Part 1: The Interview, Part 2: The Gala.

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